


The Jedi Lord of Serenno

by illusivepunk



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Canon Divergence - Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Fusion of Star Wars Legends and Disney Canon, Gen, Royalty, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28403004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illusivepunk/pseuds/illusivepunk
Summary: Count Dooku, lost and adrift after relinquishing his title of Jedi Master, receives a disturbing vision of his future which dramatically changes his fate.Renewed in purpose, Dooku chooses to walk an ambitious new path - a path which will lead to him becoming the last Jedi Lord, a bastion of light to hold back the darkness, and mentoring the talented but difficult Anakin Skywalker.
Relationships: Dooku & Anakin Skywalker, Dooku & Qui-Gon Jinn, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 23
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

_ “...it is true, yes, that Form II, once prevalent during times of war, now sees little use among our esteemed Jedi blademasters. Furthermore, I understand that it has little attraction for impatient apprentices, who gravitate to the frivolous acrobatics of Form IV, the kinetic force of V, or the simplicity of VI. It is hard to see what Form II offers that other styles do not.  _

_ To the discerning eye, however, Makashi is more than just an archaic fencer’s style. Grace… footwork… precision. All are crucial for proficiency, but as in masterworks of poetry or art, in the cage of form comes pure expression. The true hallmark of the Makashi master is, not, as assumed, in sheer preciseness, but rather in creativity. Between the lunge and the  _ shiak _ is the space in which duels are fought and won, survival is lost or guaranteed, and footwork interrupted, shifted, and changed to surprise the opponent…”  _

\- Holovid #25970, from the archives of the Jedi Order. Recorded during a lecture by Jedi Master Dooku at the Coruscant Temple.

**0.1**

His friends and colleagues once sung his praises. The younglings had whispered in awe as he walked through the hallways of the Temple, and even his old master once hailed him as one of the greatest members of the Order. From such an esteemed Jedi, it was high praise indeed.

There had been truth to their words. Dooku was not restricted by false humility, nor by overconfidence in his abilities. Whatever he set his mind to was accomplished, often with his typical elegance and flair. The greatness of his achievements was balanced by the even greater enormity of his rare mistakes. In the end, he was only human - something that he often found a bitter pill to swallow.

Still, when he walked the halls of the temple, he was revered. And it was this reverence, this renown, that had caused the Council to hang their heads in shame when he chose to relinquish his lightsaber and leave the Order. 

The Jedi Order seemed to lose its relevance on the galactic stage more and more. Too embroiled in its own politics and dry academic discussions to see the encroaching darkness and the increasing corruption. He had thought that by reclaiming his position as the Count of House Serenno, he would have the influence and the wealth to aid his vision of a fair and just galaxy.

But there was a reason he had chosen to fly all the way across the galaxy, to return to Coruscant. Though he revelled in his newfound freedom, Dooku truly felt more lost than ever.

The music of the ballet swam across the Opera House, the gentle melodies doing nothing to soothe him. He had been rather looking forward to this performance of  _ Fortune’s Past _ \- another reason he had chosen to return at this time. While overall the ballet itself was rather trite, the prima ballerina was a young Twi’lek, a former pleasure slave who had caught the eye of the right dance troupe and whose sheer talent had taken the art world by storm. He had been meaning to come and watch her perform for some time now.

Dooku sat in a private box, a glass of wine next to him, half-drained. As a Jedi, such indulgences were frowned upon. He still lived what the common noble would consider an austere lifestyle, but the fine taste of a good vintage had always enticed him. 

And yet he was distracted. The fine wine and performance could not distract from the debacle of yesterday. They weighed upon him like a boulder, and even the artful choreography and the subtle talent of the prima ballerina could not distract him.

The Republic was dying. It was rotten to the core, corrupted by the very systems that sought to prevent corruption. He had known this for some time, felt the coming darkness in his very bones, but yesterday had truly disgusted him. 

For some time now Trandoshan hunters had been reported to be on the uprise. It seemed that a select few were up to their ancient tricks on Kashyyyk, but instead of nipping this in the bud, the arguments in the Galactic Senate had stalled, forcing Chancellor Valorum to postpone debate on this topic in favour of more debate on the Trade Federation crisis unfolding on Naboo. A postponement, in today’s political terms, meant it was to be filed away and never mentioned again. 

The failure was indeed repugnant. But for Dooku, it was the last straw in a long line of failures. And with the Trade Federation acting so unusually, he feared that this was to be the first step towards many loss of lives. 

He watched the ballet robotically, clapped at the appropriate times, and the wine in the glass drained over the course of the evening. He did not stay for the encore, giving a curt thanks to the serving droid as he left the box, stewing in thought.

Yes, the Republic was dying. He knew he was not the only one to see it. Surely his old master and the other masters of the Council could see its decline, and yet, what did they do? They served the Republic, they served peace, but what would happen if that Republic eventually turned against the peace it supposedly maintained? 

Would the Jedi become no better than the Sith, acting as its agents of chaos, masquerading under the guise of order?

Outside the Galaxies Opera House, Dooku stopped on his favourite balcony and surveyed the gleaming metropolis of Coruscant, staring at the skyline intently. 

In truth, his dreams had been… disturbing, of late. Fragmented visions seemed to haunt him, and no amount of meditation could clear his mind nor unlock their meaning. It was another reason he had returned to Coruscant, sleepless and alone, although his primary excuse was to survey the proceedings of the Republic in person.

And to be perfectly honest with himself, Dooku had no idea what to do. The problems of the galaxy seemed too enormous in scale. He was not a young man anymore. As a Jedi, there had been a certain simplicity in the hum-drum of monotony, of bureaucracy. But of course, Dooku knew that the galaxy was not so simple.

How fitting it was. He was the only one, it seemed, capable of seeing the darkness close in. Backed by enormous wealth, he was in a prime position to do something about it. But to take that first step - any first step - was more terrifying than any foe, simply because of the impact of a wrong decision. 

“I knew I could find you here, master.” 

He had been so deep in thought that he had not noticed the familiar presence approach. His old apprentice, to his surprise. “Qui-Gon.” 

“Master.”

“I’m not your master anymore, Qui-Gon. Nor am I a Jedi.” 

“A teacher should always be respected, should they not?”

A ghost of a smile formed on Dooku’s lips; he’d repeated that phrase often enough during their training. “Should you not be attending to the needs of your apprentice?” 

Qui-Gon sat on the rail of the balcony, posture relaxed. While some said that he had inherited his master’s stoicism, in the presence of Dooku that old cocksure demeanour slowly unfurled itself. “And was it not a great master who once said that they could not always see to their apprentice’s needs?”

Dooku sighed and turned away. “I do not wish to reminisce on old times. My thoughts are weary. What do you want? I doubt you’re here because you’ve finally learnt to appreciate the arts.”

Qui-Gon acquiesced; they were both very frank people. “I was meditating, master. I could feel your distress through the Force.” 

“Truly?” The older master was taken aback. Had he been so perturbed that his tight control had slipped? He did not wish to reveal his presence to his old peers.

“Don’t be surprised. Sometimes I feel your emotions, still, through our old bond. In the grand scheme of things, it was not that long ago that I was apprenticed to you after all. Even then I knew when you were upset.” 

“Yes, normally when you neglected to wash like a civilised being.” Dooku said dryly. “What have you come to accomplish, then, by seeking your old master out? You recall that I am no longer a Jedi.”

At that, Qui-Gon’s shoulders tightened. Dooku’s exile had been a surprise to everyone. He had not even told his friends or old apprentices. 

“Why, master?” It was said in a whisper. Qui-Gon was now a seasoned Jedi in his own right, but this had been the first time they’d spoken after his self-imposed exile. A hint of the young, uncertain apprentice still lay deep inside him.

Dooku sighed. He had not wished to have this conversation with his old apprentice at all. “What answer will satisfy you? A lack of answer would be better than _ any  _ answer, and I do not wish to cause you further harm.” 

“You should have told me.” Qui-Gon said bitterly. 

“And it would have led to another argument. I do not see the light in the Order anymore, my apprentice. Only corruption, corruption spilling over from the Republic. Ancient masters, sitting loftily in their porcelain towers. 

“There are good people still left in the Order! It is  _ not  _ beyond saving!” 

“And how long is it before these ‘good Jedi’ are swallowed up by pride, or greed? Would the Jedi soon be bribed by credits, or flattery from a politician’s lips?” 

“What about you then master? What have you done with your  _ noble  _ position, or  _ grand  _ wealth?” 

The words were spat acidly, and struck as deep as a lightsaber through the heart. For a moment, Dooku lost his temperance, his bearing. Deep anger and humiliation blossomed in his chest, and with it, that nugget of darkness, of the  _ dark side _ , within him, tempting him, whispering to him.

_ Master the dark side, and you will be the great saviour of the galaxy.  _

As soon as the words left his lips, Qui-Gon looked down. “I-I’m sorry, Dooku. That was… it was not what you taught me.” 

Dooku forced his feelings aside, locking the darkness deep in its cage. “Indeed.” He said, cursing the slight waver in his voice. Much of his time had been spent reconciling House Serenno’s considerable assets. To his shame, the humiliation he felt was true. He had not done anything with his lofty position.

“I should take my leave then.” Qui-Gon turned around.

In another time, in another life, Dooku would have watched him go. After all, he was the Count of Serenno, a Jedi no longer. He had no right to be dallying in Jedi business, even for his former apprentice, and this would have been the last time they spoke, before a dark, mysterious visitor would stoke his ambitions, his visions, and seduce him with whispers of power, of order.

Not this time. Not this life. While the visions were fragmented, perhaps their truth unconsciously drove him to speak. “Qui-Gon!”

The Jedi stopped, turning around in confusion. 

Dooku sighed, weariness settling even more deeply into his bones. He swallowed his pride, stepping forward, and putting his hand on his old apprentice’s shoulder. “I am... proud of the Jedi you have become, my old apprentice. While I do not agree with you in everything, you trust yourself well. You’ve always known the right thing to do, even if it went against the Jedi Code.”

Qui-Gon couldn’t hide his surprise. “Thank you, master.” He then added, with a quirk of the mouth, “that I learnt from you.” 

A small, rare smile graced Dooku’s lips. 

“Chancellor Valorum has asked me to help resolve the Trade Federation crisis. I’ll be leaving in a few hours.” Qui-Gon said, his features shifting to the focused, thoughtful Jedi he’d become.

“A disturbing debacle,” Dooku murmured, “a poor precedent could be set if it is gone unchecked.” He drew a comlink from his robes. “If you need my guidance, or help - Jedi or not, you were still once my apprentice. I will not turn you away.” 

Qui-Gon bowed his head. Then, almost hesitatingly, he said, “may the Force be with you.”

“And with you.”

The master and apprentice parted ways, never to see each other in person again. 

-

Dooku soon returned to his ancestral home on Serenno. The vast lord’s master chambers still made him uncomfortable - they were something he hadn’t quite adjusted to, and it took him some time to sleep. 

Tonight the visions came once more. But tonight was different. This time, they were no longer fragmented, and instead of a distant audience, he was an actor on the stage.

_ “What if I told you that the Republic was now under the control of a Dark Lord of the Sith?” _

_ “You have failed me for the last time. You are no longer my apprentice - ” _

If anybody could see him sleeping now, they would think him possessed, twisting and turning, gasping for air like he was drowning, drenching the fine silk sheets in a pool of his own sweat.

_ “Kill him. Kill him - ” _

_ “Your name shall be Darth Tyranus.” _

_ The snap-hiss of a red lightsaber, the glint of eyes filled with malice _

NO!

With a startled cry, Dooku’s eyes widened and he realised that he had gasped. In a momentary panic he looked down at his hands, which burnt hotly, as if they had been…

He shook his head, looking around wildly before his heartbeat settled as he realised where he was. He lay back, staring at the ceiling in utter exhaustion. 

It took him some time to calm himself. After all, it is rare that one contemplates the manner of their own death.

While somewhat fragmented, the truth had been there. Part of him wanted to doubt it, but he’d always believed that visions from the Force, especially ones this strong, could only tell the truth.

He had seen himself as the gullible puppet of the Sith, swallowed up in his pride that he knew what he was doing. He had seen the darkness the galaxy had plunged into, and the deep darkness that waited even further until everything would be strangled by the hold of the Sith. 

Dooku got up, aching limbs protesting as he moved into the centre of the room and knelt on the cold floor, attempting to centre himself. In his meditation, he felt only shame.  _ Pride comes before a fall _ . Master Yoda had often cautioned him of that. He thought his old master hypocritical, but maybe, in his age, he too had fallen into the same trap. 

Time passed around him, but Dooku did not feel its passing as he meditated deeply. It was the clank of a droid that interrupted him. 

“Master Dooku?” The servant droid regarded him with its blank eyes curiously.

Dooku opened his eyes. He stood up, some of the ache of last night gone, but not completely. “Yes, droid?” The former Jedi asked in irritation.

“We’ve received a message from one of your personal commlinks.” 

Dooku raised an eyebrow, before realisation dawned on him.  _ Qui-Gon.  _ “Play it.” 

The droid’s eyes glowed as it casted the hologram of his former apprentice, illuminating the chambers in a blue sheen.

_ “Master.”  _ The hologram inclined its head.  _ “I find myself in need of your guidance and precious little time to receive it. We’ve returned to Coruscant but the Queen of Naboo wishes to depart, frustrated at the proceedings. She has a plan to take back her planet, and my apprentice and I will support her.”  _

Dooku inclined his head in approval. Where words failed, actions revealed the measure of one’s character. He hadn’t yet received the latest update on the Trade Federation crisis, but it seemed that the representative of Naboo, Palpatine, was using it to bolster himself into power.  _ Typical of all greedy politicians.  _

_ “But that’s not what I want to discuss.”  _ Qui-Gon’s figure paused, collecting its thoughts.  _ “During our escape from Naboo, we were stranded briefly in the Outer Rim, on a planet called Tatooine. There… I encountered a child with a midi-chlorian count far outstripping Master Yoda’s. I believe this boy was conceived by the Force.” _

Dooku couldn’t help but gasp. Surely he didn’t mean... 

_ “I believe that this boy is the one. The one who will bring balance to the Force.”  _ The recording stuttered for a moment as concern etched itself on the Jedi’s face; it looked like Qui-Gon had paused his transmission. When he resumed, he appeared far more collected.  _ “A warrior attacked us on Tatooine, well-trained in the Jedi arts. Too well trained. The Council do not believe him to be Sith, but in my mind, there is no doubt they are moving against us. They also doubt this boy to be the Chosen One, and do not think he should be trained.” _

This seemed too incredible. To think, on such an insignificant planet, the Chosen One and the Sith revealed themselves. And what sheer absurdity that the Council doubted Qui-Gon! When he was capable himself of sitting on the Council, if he so chose? Dooku was more than pleased now that he had left the politics of the Jedi Order in his wake.

_ “Master, I do not know what will happen when we return to Naboo. I fear that we will face this dark warrior in battle once again, but whatever happens, it will be because of the will of the Force, and I am at peace with this. But the boy…”  _ Qui-Gon pleaded,  _ “the boy must be trained. I have no doubt that we discovered him because the Force willed it. If the boy - Anakin Skywalker - is refused, then his fate will become uncertain.”  _

_ “He was a slave on Tatooine, with a mother. They said he was too old to be trained, too connected to his former life, too concerned about his mother. Anakin needs more than training, he needs guidance - guidance that the Jedi Order may lack. The empty words of old texts will do little to help him. If something happens to me, Master… then I ask you to take care of him personally.”  _

The recording stopped, leaving the chambers in darkness once again. Dooku was sitting thoughtfully, stroking his beard. 

He had not wanted to set foot in the Jedi Order again. The life of a Jedi was behind him now. He had forsaken it when he relinquished his lightsaber, and yet Qui-Gon asked him to take up the mantle of mentor once more? 

And more disturbing was the tone of Qui-Gon’s message. He spoke with certainty. But also a sense of resignation, something that Dooku had never heard in his old apprentice’s voice. If he was killed by the Sith…

Dooku shook his head. No. He had to have faith. Qui-Gon was a fine duellist, more than a match for any Sith. And yet he couldn’t shake that niggling feeling of uncertainty - the uncertainty that made him rise up, feeling a new energy in his old body. “Have a cold bath drawn for me and a quick breakfast prepared. Once that’s done, prepare my ship.”

“Sir?” The droid questioned, but Dooku was already in motion as he went to the wardrobe, considering his suit and robes for the trip.

A lightness had come to him, a lightness that almost reminded him of his fiery zeal as a youth. For a time, he had been the most passionate advocate for the ideas of the Jedi Order, or rather what the Order should be, but that flame had dimmed with age and cynicism.

A cynicism which he now found lacking.

The Force had shown him his future. And Dooku was not pleased by this. There were no coincidences, and it was no coincidence that he received this message on the same night he received his vision. 

He would not go into the night as the puppet of the Sith. If he were to die again, it would not be in service of tyranny, but of freedom.


	2. Chapter 2

****

Obi-Wan was a man who possessed a great level of patience. 

_ You’re a level-headed man, my young apprentice. Caution is well becoming of you as a Jedi. But caution can sometimes be mistaken for inaction, and you must learn to understand which you need at the time.  _ Even in death, the young Jedi could hear Qui-Gon’s voice, as soothing as a river and yet as steady and as enduring as bedrock. He closed his eyes, letting the Force wash over him and refresh him, and unconsciously his hand went to the river stone Qui-Gon had gifted him on his thirteenth birthday. 

The pain of the lost bond was fresh, like a raw, aching wound. Even when he meditated, he could do nothing more than replay Qui-Gon’s last moments in his head against the Sith. Could he have been faster? Less cautious, more aggressive against the Sith warrior?

Or perhaps he could have basked in the dark side, fighting fire with fire? Drink from the well of his enemy, turn it against - 

Obi-Wan shook his head free of these thoughts. He was patient, true, but that patience was now wearing thin. They had returned to Coruscant after the final celebration in Naboo, and yet, the Council remained infuriatingly obdurate on the subject of one Anakin Skywalker. He sat outside the High Council Chamber, awaiting his next opportunity to make his case, but even from here he could hear the arguments happening inside.

Qui-Gon had left the boy essentially in the Order’s care when he freed him from slavery. While Obi-Wan had argued with Master Yoda and asked for someone to train the boy, as Qui-Gon had wished, the Council instead chose to bicker over the matter. Even worse, some suggested he should be returned to his mother - a spit in the face of all that his master sacrificed to bring him here!

Obi-Wan was not as certain as his master had been. But he trusted his experience and wisdom. Qui-Gon knew that there was something special about Anakin, and so he would do his very best to appeal for him. 

“Obi-Wan. It’s been some time.” 

A deep, sonorous voice brought him out of his thoughts. Obi-Wan turned, shock on his face as he registered the familiar visage. “M-Master Dooku.”

Dooku chuckled. “There is no need for that. After all, I am no longer a Jedi.” Indeed, dressed in a fine buttoned coat and silk robes and with a cane at his side, Dooku looked more like a distinguished gentleman than the legendary Jedi he had once been. “How long has it been since we’ve last seen each other?”

Obi-Wan bit his lip as he tried to think. “Not since we returned from Lah’mu, mas… uh, Count.” 

The older man sighed. “Has it really been that long? Walk with me, Obi-Wan.” 

Obi-Wan wanted to excuse himself and say he was waiting for the High Council, but Dooku had already started walking, cane rapping in the hallway. Reluctantly, Obi-Wan followed.

They walked together in silence for some time. Obi-Wan could keenly feel the gaze of other Jedi, bearing down on them, but he ignored them all. The whispers of his fight on Naboo had already begun fiercely circulating, and while they were uncomfortable, Dooku’s presence was like an aegis, defending him from their gaze. It reminded him of…

… of Qui-Gon. Well, Dooku  _ had  _ been Qui-Gon’s master, a long time ago.

“I must admit, I had some misgivings about returning here,” Dooku said, his tone pleasant, as if he was commenting on the weather, “trepidation, even. After all, it was not that long ago that I stood in these hallways and berated the Council for their antiquated methodologies. Was it hypocritical of me to return? Still, one cannot deny the beauty of the Temple. Nor the nostalgia of an old man.” 

They came to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but close his eyes, drinking in the sight and smell of nature; the rich, slightly pungent aroma of the exotic fauna, trees and bushes, the slight crunch of grass beneath the feet, and the rushing sound of water. Here, the Force brimmed in its purest, most chaotic form: in that of nature, of life around them.

Dooku walked up the stone steps, into a small, lilac covered grove. He beckoned Obi-Wan towards him; reluctantly the young Jedi followed and sat down. 

They sat for some time in silence; comfortable silence for Dooku, and slightly awkward silence for Obi-Wan. He struggled to find the right words to say, and every time he wanted to say something, the words seemed to die before they came to his lips.

Finally, he gripped the river stone, shutting his eyes. “Master… Count…”

“Qui-Gon’s death was not your fault,” Dooku interrupted, his voice even yet somehow also exuding authority, “it was the fault of that monster. Nobody could have foreseen the return of the Sith after a millenia.” 

“But I could have done something. Anything! He was my master - ”

“And he was my apprentice. Qui-Gon died for something he believed in. It is the will of the Force that this should come to pass. We can only focus on what we can do in our loss.” Dooku rapped his cane. “I hear that you have been promoted to knighthood. Most deserved. Despite the circumstances, I congratulate you. In ancient times, defeating a Sith was the ultimate test of one’s skill, courage and insight.” 

Obi-Wan couldn’t help the bitter laugh. “And yet, the Council will refuse me Qui-Gon’s last wish.” 

Dooku raised an eyebrow. “Ah, yes, the boy. Anakin Skywalker.”

“You know of him?”

“Obi-Wan, I did not come here just for nostalgia’s sake. You are practically family. Let us speak as such.” Dooku seemed to change in an instant. Gone was the exterior of the mild-mannered, old noble. His body seemed to shift and contort, transforming into something hard and as unyielding as durasteel. Alertness came to his eyes, a fierce intellect sparkling within them. 

Obi-Wan could only gape at the change. All of a sudden he realised that the cane, the cloak, the buttoned robe were all for show. Here was the man, the Jedi that Yoda had once apprenticed, and who had taught his own master the higher ways of the Force. The word ‘Count’ appeared in his mind, but he said something else. “Master Dooku…” 

“Qui-Gon left me a message before his doomed return mission to Naboo. He asked me one last thing, should anything befall him.” 

Realisation came. “He wanted you to train Anakin.” 

-

It had been strange to return to the Jedi Temple. Evidently, his return had caused a stir. Younglings, apprentices and knights all watched his every movement. He had chosen his clothing deliberately, playing the part of a noble gentleman with all the grace and commitment of an experienced actor. That had helped to diffuse the attention somewhat. With their curiosity sated, they returned to their previous activities. All Dooku was, was a simple old man, enjoying life’s pleasures. Hardly worthy of their time or attention.

Dooku had little interest in nostalgia, but even he, with his discipline and control, could not help but feel the warmth of the Room of a Thousand Fountains suffuse him. He had come here often with Sifo-Dyas as a youngling in order to meditate, and Qui-Gon was similarly enraptured. Now, the energy of the Force brimming in the greenhouse restored his energy; he couldn’t help but feel rebalanced, recentred in his purpose. Whatever else happened, it was good that he decided to come.

Obi-Wan was but a teenager the last time they spoke. At that time, Obi-Wan was shy and in awe of his master’s master. The person before him could no longer be called a boy - he had come close to tasting death at the hands of the dark side. And yet, despite his aching wound of loss, he held himself with a calm resolve and a strong sense of purpose. He saw what Qui-Gon saw - that Obi-Wan could,  _ would _ be a great Jedi.

“That is correct,” Dooku acknowledged, “Qui-Gon’s wish was for the boy to be trained. If the Council sent him away, he would become far more dangerous than if he were to be trained.” 

“They have been debating for some time now.”

The ex-Jedi couldn’t help but give a wry look. “Yes, they have a habit of doing that. But I sense that they will return him to his mother, or attempt to. If he truly is the Chosen One, this would be a dark fate for all the galaxy. Now that we are certain that the Trade Federation dispute is the doing of the Sith, it is more critical that action rules over dogma.” 

He could see that the young knight was at war with himself; the struggle played clearly on his face. The part of him that had been raised within these walls and would do anything for the Jedi now clashed with the questioning defiance that Qui-Gon had cultivated. Obi-Wan was not a fool. He could see that sending the boy away was clearly the wrong decision. And yet, the thought of anyone being trained in the ways of the Force, outside of the Jedi Order?

Still, the Count had already made his choice. He only informed Obi-Wan out of courtesy, and perhaps a desire to reforge a link. The boy would need all the allies he could get if he was truly the child of prophecy, and Obi-Wan would need connections outside of the Order as well. 

And perhaps he felt a more grandfatherly sentiment. Obi-Wan was his apprentice’s apprentice, and they both felt the same keen sense of loss. In Dooku’s case, he chose to make something useful out of his feelings.

The Count shook his head, tapping his cane. “You will soon find as a Jedi Knight that the reins of responsibility are no easy task. Nothing in this galaxy is black and white anymore. And when you have to make those hard decisions, what will win? What the  _ masters _ want? Or what you feel is right?” The old master stood, walking away. “I will speak to the boy. I sense the Council has made their decision. If you have any trust in Qui-Gon’s choice, you will inform them that the people of Naboo had made arrangements for his safe passage should he be rejected from the Jedi Order. It would be better if fewer people knew where he was, but rest assured, he will be safe with me.” He paused. “Oh, and Knight Kenobi?”

“Count Dooku?” The bearing of the Jedi returned to Obi-Wan at the addressing of his position. He stood up, his demeanour a mask of calm, the wall of politeness returning between them. They were no longer family, but Count and Jedi.

The Count of Serenno gave him a nod of acknowledgement. “Do not be a stranger. Serenno will always be welcome to you. I would hate for you to be lost as well.” 

It was time to meet this child.

-

Anakin Skywalker was cold. He never thought he would miss the scorching heat of Tatooine’s suns, but there had been a strange comfort in the heat. It was hostile, true, but since he always knew it was hostile, it could not hurt him. 

The Jedi Temple was vast and beautiful. He wished he could explore it, but Qui-Gon’s apprentice, Obi-Wan, had put him in these quarters to wait. There was a vent in the roof, and it was blowing a cold and icy breeze through the room. Without any sheets or layers, Anakin was freezing, rubbing his arms like Padme taught him in order to keep warm.

The boy couldn’t hear anything outside of the quarters. Only the hum of the screen and the whistle of the vent as it blew in air. Tears threatened to come to his eyes, but he blinked them away. Obi-Wan said that he had to be strong. 

_ What will happen to me now?  _

Obi-Wan’s eyes were distant and sad. _ The Council has not granted me permission to train you. But I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make sure you become a Jedi.  _

His words rang hollow. And now, as he waited, he couldn’t help but wonder if he would return to Tatooine, to be with his mum. Maybe that was what he wanted, in the end. He missed her painfully, like a part of his own body was missing. 

Maybe he would have to return to Tatooine, but he was free, not a slave. He would work hard, find some sort of a job, do everything he could to save up and pay for his mother’s freedom. And then they could live together - on a beautiful planet, like Naboo. With lots of forests and trees and water. He would be a pilot, an explorer like in those old holovids. Seeing all sorts of weird and strange things, but always returning home.

They’d never be apart again. 

The thought warmed him up from the inside, even as his skin prickled with goosebumps and he shivered.

Then all of a sudden, he felt something. Something coming - a warmth, like a fire, but as strong and as steady as a heartbeat. It wasn’t a physical feeling, but something… else. It reminded him, oddly enough, of Qui-Gon.

The door to the quarters hissed open. An elderly man came in, dressed in something like what a senator would wear. “Hello, young Skywalker.” His voice was rich and booming, but comforting.

Anakin’s own voice was hesitant. “How do you know me?”

The man walked in. Despite his age, he seemed vitalised, as if full of life and energy. He held a cane but he moved smoothly, gracefully. “I know you because I’ve been looking for you. You’ve caused quite a stir for the Council, you see.” 

Anakin shook his head. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble for anyone.” 

The man sat down across from him, regarding him with cool and distant eyes. “Tell me young Skywalker. How do you feel?”

“Afraid, sir.” 

He paused. Anakin felt… something. It was similar to the feeling he got when he was in the Council, being tested. Was this man a Jedi? “I see. You’re afraid of disappointment. Of disappointing Qui-Gon, but also disappointing your mother. She wanted you to leave Tatooine, to be a Jedi Knight.” 

He had to be a Jedi. Only a Jedi could do that sort of thing. Anakin just nodded; he’d learnt that they could tell when you were lying.

The apparent Jedi closed his eyes in reminiscence. “When he was but a young boy, Qui-Gon was afraid as well. But fear itself is not to be afraid of.”

“But Master Yoda said that fear led to the dark side, sir.” 

“Only if you let the fear control and dictate your actions. If you acknowledge your fear, you master it and move past it. Such is the way of a true Jedi.” He lectured.

“... who are you?” The boy asked, his voice filled with wonder. 

“My name is Dooku. Once, I was a Jedi master, and Qui-Gon was my pupil.”

“ _ You _ trained  _ Qui-Gon _ , sir?” Anakin’s eyes were as wide as saucers now. 

Dooku nodded. “I am no longer a Jedi, young Skywalker. But Qui-Gon asked me to train you, just as he was trained. I am not certain that I could instruct you the way I instructed him, but if you wish, I can show you the ways of the Force, and teach you to make it your ally.” 

Anakin looked down. “I don’t want to be any more trouble.” 

The former Jedi’s eyes were inscrutable, but they hardened ever so slightly. “You wish to fulfill your promise to your mother. I understand that, because by taking you as an apprentice, I will also have fulfilled a promise I made.” 

“To who?”

Dooku turned, hiding his face as he smiled. “To a friend.” Then, he turned back. “Now come, Skywalker. We should not waste time.” 

“Y-You’re really sure, sir?” 

“I’ve made my decision.” He stood, and gestured for the boy to follow.

And the master and apprentice left together.

-

Valorum had made the office of Supreme Chancellor a true eyesore. So desperate was he to resurrect his dying public image that he had banners and artwork of every kind put on his walls from all of his supporters, in a pathetic attempt at showing unity.

Palpatine resolved to have them taken down as soon as possible. He’d been busy this whole morning, receiving messages from both the media, desperate for a scoop on the new Chancellor, and from politicians looking to cozy up so that he would hear their requests. The afternoon had been spent making the start of numerous... modifications to the office. He intended, after all, to hold this office for eternity. It only made sense to start from the very first day, and if he failed, none of it would matter in the end.

Still, while he was making the transition to the Chancellor’s office, and would certainly spend most of his time there in order to keep up his own public image, Palpatine returned in the evening to his own apartment suite. Decorated splendidly in hues of red, his apartment was average in comparison to some of the decadent suites other senators chose to maintain. This apartment suite, though hid its own fair share of secrets. 

Palpatine’s mask of a kind and warm politician disappeared as he faced the window. “Leave me.”

The guards nodded, disappearing out the door.

In Palpatine’s place, Darth Sidious appeared. He smirked, yellow eyes basking in the light of Coruscant, before he turned to the decorative mural on the wall, supposedly an art piece made from an excavated mausoleum artefact. 

The mural hissed open, revealing an ancient Sith artifact; the stone mask of a long forgotten Sith Lord. Closing his eyes, Sidious put his hand on the mask and reached out.

Darth Maul was on the verge of death. He could feel his apprentice’s life force flickering, but his rage and despair at his defeat were like howling screams through the Force, even planets away.

Out of his lips came a guttural tongue, the language of the ancient Sith, as he willed his apprentice to survive, for the dark side to heal his wounds and sustain him. He was no true practitioner of Sith sorcery, as Darth Zannah had once been, but the mask amplified his powers. 

His apprentice had been defeated, and normally Sidious would have retrieved him - after all, he was a worthy successor to the mantle of the Sith Lord, and it would be foolish to discard him as an asset. 

But Maul needed to prove that he could survive and return from near death. Whether Maul was still worthy of the title of the Sith Lord was ultimately irrelevant. He would return even stronger after defeat, still capable of learning the higher mysteries of the dark side, or he would be a broken tool and a liability to be discarded at the earliest convenience.

Sidious contemplated these options with a distant curiosity, for they were ultimately irrelevant. Treachery, after all, was the way of the Sith.

His thoughts turned to the boy, Anakin Skywalker.  _ Such power…  _ he licked his lips in greed. He had heard that the Council was deliberating on what to do with him, too old to begin the traditional Jedi training. 

Typical Jedi inefficiency! Ultimately, it mattered not. If he was taken away, Sidious would simply retrieve him. And if he was trained, then under the guise of friendly old Palpatine he would befriend him.

He was Darth Sidious, Lord of the Sith. He would have it all. 


	3. Chapter 3

“Is this the last of them, droid?” Dooku asked. He stamped the sigil of House Serenno onto the envelope and put it in the box. The servant droid bobbed its head in a nod and picked it up, taking it outside while the former Jedi suppressed a yawn and sat back.

As the head of the ruling family, Dooku had a great many formal responsibilities, one of which was diplomacy between House Serenno and the other Great Houses. This cycle it seemed that there had been a wave of many marriages and childbirths among the families. As tradition dictated, Dooku had to personally congratulate them in some capacity; since his time was always limited, a handwritten letter offering his congratulations was most efficient. While he was sorely tempted to dictate such matters to a writing droid, the tradition had to be respected.

His father had done a lot of damage to Serenno, both the planet and to their House’s reputation. Gora’s isolationist stance and bid to replace workers with droids on a planetary scale had not been popular with the people. Dooku needed to show to both the people and the Great Houses that he was not his father, and cared for the wellbeing of those under his responsibility. With galactic affairs so quiet after the Trade Federation crisis, this seemed as good a time as any to keep busy.

A knock came at his door. “Enter,” Dooku commanded, his attention now focused on his holojournal. He kept it dutifully updated as a record of all his actions as Count.

In came Jenza, his sister, and she looked most displeased. “Brother.”

“Sister,” the former Jedi greeted, “you need not knock. My door is always welcome to you.” 

His sister embodied the ideal of House Serenno in both bearing and appearance. She took after their mother, Countess Anya, with a certain agelessness in her face as despite her advancing age, not a single wrinkle appeared on her skin. When she was angry, however, her scowl resembled the permanent scowl of their father, and it appeared that this was now the case. “I do not know how things are done in the Jedi Order, brother, but depriving your apprentice - a child in your care - of both attention and care is not going to deepen your relationship with him.” 

“He has his studies.” Dooku dismissed. “I will spend time with him later today, but he has much to learn still.” 

“He is not a nobleman’s child, you realise. He is just a boy - a talented boy who wants to please you, and who misses his mother.” Jenza argued. “Why do you think he rebuilt that servant droid? For fun?” 

“Skywalker has his predisposition towards the mechanical.” On their first tour of Castle Serenno, his new apprentice had been awe-inspired by the vast palace and its gardens but fascinated by the Castle’s roster of droids, both battle droids and servant droids. He had spent his second day living in the Castle in the droid maintenance chamber, and had promptly come out the third day with the former butler droid, AF-C1, reactivated and fully repaired. 

Dooku himself never had much interest in the mechanics of droids and starships. Engineering, architecture and logistics were important domains of knowledge for any proper leader, but he had always found the prospect of mechanics rather distasteful. It didn’t help that Sifo-Dyas’ grinning face, blackened with soot and grease, was permanently etched into his memory. But as long as Skywalker kept focused on his studies, the Count would allow him his hobbies. 

“He didn’t rebuild it just for fun. He built it because he wanted to impress you.” Jenza replied, shaking her head incredulously. “You, who prefers to keep his distance from other people.”

“My other apprentices did just fine.”

“And did he grow up like you, or your other apprentices, in the Jedi Temple? He was once a slave, Dooku, and not that long ago he lost both your former apprentice and his mother. He’s still hurting and reaching out for someone - how can he possibly focus on what you have to teach him?” 

Dooku put down his holojournal, considering her words carefully.

It was true that Anakin Skywalker had not been raised in the Jedi Temple, as Rael and Qui-Gon had been. He had been a servant his whole life, and raised in poor conditions, both physically and mentally. A position not befitting his potential.

The boy was a supernova in the Force. If Skywalker were not the Chosen One then he was the closest thing they would ever get to the prophecy. When Dooku reached out, he could sense his apprentice as one could look up to the sky and see the sun in the beating heat of the day. 

Dooku was no longer a Jedi. Yet even now, he had fallen onto reflexive habits, moulded from a lifetime of training padawans and living in the Order. Why teach him the same way other apprentices were taught? 

Dooku rose, fetching his cloak. He closed his eyes, reaching out through the fledgling training bond that he and his apprentice now shared. Without meaning to, Skywalker had formed the tendril of connection when Dooku acknowledged him as his padawan. The boy did things subconsciously that other younglings in the Temple would have been jealous of. “Please take care of any affairs that come to our attention, Lady Jenza,” he said, gently passing the reins of responsibility onto her for today.

His sister merely bowed, hiding the small smile on her face.

-

Skywalker was not in his quarters studying. He was, once again, in the droid maintenance chambers. 

As Dooku entered, he winced at the smoke and smell of burning metal. “Apprentice.” 

The boy popped his head up, eyes wide open, expression frozen into the face of any child caught doing what they shouldn’t be doing. “M-Master Dooku!” 

Dooku stepped forward, letting the silence help build the tension, cloak billowing behind him. This was a part, at least, that carried over, and one he could still play well from his days as a Jedi Master. “Upgrading the battle droids?” He observed, noting the fusion cutter on the workbench and the various parts.

“Y-Y-Yes master,” the boy stuttered, looking at his work. “It looked like some of them had bad servomotors, so I, uh… I decided - ”

“How, pray tell, was your first lesson in economics?” 

The sudden subject change took him off-balance. Skywalker blinked, his face blushing an even deeper red, and before he could answer, Dooku couldn’t help but give the boy a certain look. “Come with me, my apprentice.” 

They walked in silence through the vast Castle’s hallways for some time before Skywalker finally couldn’t resist the urge to ask. “So… you’re not mad at me?” 

“I understand that you have been somewhat distracted.” Dooku answered, before admitting, “as I have been. The duties of a Count are numerous.” 

“It seems like a lot of sitting around, to me.” Anakin said with some bitterness in his voice.

“ _ Watch _ your tongue, apprentice.” The former Jedi scolded reflexively; Anakin’s shoulders tensed and knotted at the rebuke, chest puffing out at the verbal wound.

“Qui-Gonn would’ve been nicer to me,” the boy finally huffed, his face surly and nose turned up in defiance, “I can’t believe you were his master.” 

Dooku didn’t respond. He led them into the elevator, taking them to the highest floors of Castle Serenno, to the observation room and through the door and onto the balcony.

From here, the entirety of the palace gardens could be seen, and on the horizon, the nearest city, smoke wafting in the distance. They had visited this room only very briefly on the first day. Cool wind blew in Dooku’s face; the boy shivered, but did his best to hide it.

“Serenno was once very prosperous, before my father took control of it. When he came to power, he attempted to separate the planet as much as possible from the Galactic Republic, and my brother tried to turn the people against it. When I was in the service of the Jedi Order, I stopped him. And now I must repair the damage that their decrees have wrought.” Dooku lectured.

Anakin paused. Childish stubbornness warred with genuine curiosity, before curiosity eventually won out. “...but why would they want to separate themselves from the Republic?” Doesn’t the Republic help and protect people?”

“Did the Republic help Queen Amidala, or the Naboo?” Dooku questioned. As a teacher, he preferred his students to work out the answers for themselves rather than simply giving them the answers on a silver platter. 

The boy thought for a moment. Then he shook his head. “Qui-Gon said that the Senate needed time to figure out the answer. That’s why Padme decided to go home. She said we could take back Naboo by ourselves.”

Dooku raised an eyebrow at his use of the Queen’s first name, but chose not to mention it. “Do you think, then, that my father or my brother had good reason to trust the Republic, based on your firsthand experience?” 

The boy shook his head. Then he muttered, “my mum used to say the biggest problem in the galaxy was that nobody helped each other.” Anakin looked up at him, realisation in his eyes. “That’s why you left the Jedi Order, isn’t it?” 

_ Clever boy. Far more perceptive than he lets on.  _ “It is one of the reasons. I’ve long had a strong distaste for bureaucracy.” 

“What’s bureaucracy?” 

“Something you will learn in economics.” Dooku chided. 

Anakin wrinkled his nose. “I don’t see why I need to learn this stuff. I’m supposed to learn how to use the Force, aren’t I?”

“The Jedi are more than warriors. They are negotiators, peacekeepers, and many have had to play politician more than once.” The Count explained. “All will be made clear to you in time, but if you are truly to be my apprentice, then you will be seen by my people as an extension of my will. When that happens, they will ask you for help, and you must be ready with the wisdom to appropriately guide them.” 

At his apprentice’s blank look, Dooku couldn’t help but suppress a sigh. This was going to take a lot more work than he thought. 

-

After Dooku caught him meddling around in the droid maintenance chambers, he took a far more involved approach to Anakin’s education, something which initially delighted the boy, but increasingly frustrated him.

At the end of the first week, Anakin was exhausted, physically and mentally. He spent all his waking time in Dooku’s chambers, constantly working in his presence, reading about the Force, about the galaxy, and asking questions. Master Dooku seemed to always have an answer to his questions, and never once got frustrated or annoyed at his seeming barrage of them. 

Since he continued to struggle with general tuition, Lady Jenza helped him. They sat together in the corner of his quarters, reading late into the night. Anakin found it all tough - while his mum had tried his best to make sure he got at least the basics, he’d never really received a proper, formal education, and Watto certainly wasn’t going to send him to school. He did his best though, not wanting to displease his strange, sometimes distant master.

And Jenza was nice - warm, caring, kind. She reminded him a lot of Jira, grandmotherly in sentiment, but with Padme’s grace and bearing when she had all her makeup on. It wasn’t her fault that what he had to learn was  _ stupid,  _ as to his shame, he felt like he wasn’t getting any of it at all.

It was towards the end of the second week that Dooku took his apprentice aside, taking him into the Castle gardens, deep into a quiet grove that the Count had cleared out as a meditation area.

“It is time for you to have your first taste of the power of the Force,” Dooku said, bringing him into the centre of the grove, where a stone platform had been constructed. Anakin couldn’t help but look around excitedly; the smell of fresh plants and water always invigorated him. Of all the things his new life had brought, being on a planet full of lush forestry was the best of them all. “Come, sit.” 

Anakin sat down, cross-legged like he’d seen in the holograms. 

“Tell me, what have you learnt of the Force in your studies?” 

“... it’s an energy field, residing in all living things, connecting the universe together. The Force speaks to us through midi-chlorians, which resides in our cells. That’s how the Jedi are able to use and speak to the Force, because they have more midi-chlorians than others.” Anakin recited.

“You have this power too. You’ve always had it,” Dooku taught, “even if you didn’t realise it. I’m certain you’ve had many times, where, without truly knowing, you seemed to know the right answer, or the right manner of doing something. Almost as if there was a voice, whispering to you in the back of your mind, or another hand guiding yours.”

“Like in podracing?” 

“An apt example. Now, close your eyes.” When Anakin did so, Dooku waited, letting the moment settle, before speaking again. “Reach out.” 

Slowly, Anakin reached his hand out. 

“Ow! Hey!” The boy recoiled as a sharp pain lashed his hand; Dooku had smacked him with his cane. 

“Not like that. Again.” 

Resisting the urge to scowl, Anakin took a deep breath and closed his eyes once more. 

“Listen to the breeze rush through the leaves. Listen to the sound of the water. Feel the stone beneath your legs.” 

Anakin’s breathing slowed. He could feel it, his skin rising slowly as the breeze softly caressed him, rustling through the leaves. The water gently bubbled in the pond, fish swimming through and occasionally making a splash as they rose to the surface.

“Now reach out with your senses.” 

It was like he left his body; even though he could feel himself rooted to the ground, he felt his sense of self drift off, rising beyond his prison of skin. He could see without seeing - the life brimming all around him, through and beyond everything, and the dead things too, the bugs and bones in the soil, slowly composting away. And beyond all that… an energy. A tension… a - 

“A Force,” Anakin whispered, his face serene. “It’s all around us.” 

“It is,” Dooku murmured, pleased. “What do you see?” 

Anakin let the energy carry him further, farther away, tugging on a strong chain of energy that seemed to connect his body to something else. He rode through it like a tunnel, until all that surrounded him was death, dust and heat. He felt… exhausted. In pain. And then he saw a familiar face. “My mother,” his voice cracked, “she’s in pain.” 

“The life of a slave is a struggle.” Dooku acknowledged. “But let your feelings subside. She wanted you to have a better life.” 

“Her bones hurt. Watto is angry that Qui-Gon outsmarted him. He’s making her work harder,” tears filled Anakin’s eyes, “she misses me.  _ So much.  _ Mum, I miss - ”

“Enough.” Dooku boomed. 

Anakin opened his eyes, breaking the link. “Master Dooku - I’m so sorry, I couldn’t - ”

“It’s not your fault.” The Count said. “That’s enough for today.” 

-

Later on, in his personal meditation chamber deep underneath Castle Serenno, Dooku contemplated his apprentice after their first two weeks together. It was clear where his distraction was coming from.

This was not a singular occurrence. Every night, he could sense that the boy dreamed of his mother; a conundrum he had not encountered with his other apprentices. But then they could not remember their families, an explicit reason the Jedi Order chose to take its initiates as babies. 

The old and curmudgeonly Jedi in him was tempted to just ignore it. Feelings of loss went away with time. Skywalker was afraid of the new world he’d entered, and afraid of disappointing his new teacher. It seemed natural that he’d latch on to things of the past.

But was it really that simple? 

In his meditation, Dooku could not help but contemplate the only experience he’d had with something like this. And that was his own experience, of encountering his sister. Of realising that they shared a bond, and that no matter what happened, they were destined to be reunited. 

He had been a child, and yet that feeling of elation was still fresh in his mind. To know that there was someone out there, a sibling who loved him dearly. He had always kept himself apart from the other younglings, and so every time they secretly communicated…

Love. Affection. Family. All things that the Jedi Order consciously set itself apart from. Master Yoda would have told him that the Jedi embraced these feelings, but that in order to communicate with the higher mysteries of the Force, one must be set apart from them.

It seemed an illogical stretch to make, but did the Order’s abandonment of these also lead to its stagnation? Its lack of empathy? How could a painter paint with no feeling in their heart, a musician play or singer sing without them? 

Was his temptation to ignore it yet another indoctrination of the Order, one that he’d been actively fighting because of his relationship with Jenza? 

He dismissed these thoughts, shaking his head. This had not been the first time Jedi Master Dooku and Count Dooku had warred, and it would not be the last.

-

Anakin couldn’t sleep.

He sat awake in his quarters, quietly tinkering away on some new servo-motors. An old habit he couldn’t get rid of; his mum had threatened to take his tools away, but eventually gave up. 

Master Dooku was angry at him; he knew that. It was like Watto - you knew he was angry, even if they didn’t show that they were. He felt a deep sense of shame at disappointing his new master. Was he really going to learn the ways of the Force, or the ways of a Jedi? He’d hardly learnt anything at all this whole time, sitting in stuffy rooms all day watching holovids. 

The mere thought of Watto brought up thoughts of Tatooine, and the fresh wound that it brought.

_ Mum. It really hurt for me to leave, didn’t it? _

It was too real. He could see her in his mind’s eye, as clear as day, feel all her pain and struggle and suffering. She had sacrificed everything for him, and Anakin left.

_ “Now, be brave and don’t look back. Don’t look back.”  _

How could he not look back? Even in his mind’s eye? He saw it in his head, replaying it as a distant observer. How his mother, his rock and his whole world, watched him leave, and he had walked away. 

He could have asked Padme to free her. She was a Queen and wealthy, wasn’t she? But he’d have to somehow find her, talk to her. 

Anakin closed his eyes. He had to follow his feelings. 

-

The blaring of alarms roused Dooku out of his slumber. A burst of Force energy brought him to full alertness; he leapt out of bed, putting on his robe and striding towards the holo-transmitter. “What’s happening?” 

The image of one of the head security droids appeared. If a droid could look sheepish, it did now.  _ “Sir, your personal transport has been stolen.”  _

“What?” Dooku thundered in shock, his mind racing with possible culprits. “What are you talking about, droid? How could anyone have bypassed the perimeter defenses?” 

_ “... that’s just it, sir. The security signature showed that it was, uh, stolen by your padawan, Anakin Skywalker.”  _


	4. Chapter 4

  
It had been a relatively peaceful day and evening for Jenza. As an extension of the Count, she was present and often seen publicly, going regularly to formal gatherings of the nobility. The last week or so had been quiet in that sphere - after the lavish masquerade ball hosted by House Hakka, it seemed that everyone wanted time to recover.  
  
After the chaos of her father’s reign, such days were good, and well needed. Times were tough for the common people of Serenno, but such days offered an opportunity for self-reflection. She practiced calligraphy, having adopted it as a hobby to pass the time, in addition to helping in Anakin’s tutelage. The boy was clearly gifted, but just lacked motivation and hadn’t adjusted to the quirks of having a more formal education.  
  
The times of disorder and constant tension had long passed. Still, old habits die hard. At the blaring of the familiar alarms Jenza roused herself, demanding an extra strong caf from her servant droid as she slipped on her robe and went straight down to the castle’s command room.  
  
Dooku was already there, fully dressed in a plain suit and cape, reviewing the security footage from the console. He looked no worse for wear, despite the lateness of the hour, and Jenza felt an instant spike of jealousy - not everybody, after all, had Jedi powers to sustain them, and she knew that without her morning skin routines and rituals, she must have looked quite shocking.  
  
“Brother, what’s happened?” The noblewoman asked, taking the hotly made beverage from her droid. It was comfortably hot, and she took a strong swig, letting it start to wake her up properly.  
  
“My foolish apprentice.” Dooku said, staring at the holo-footage intently. Jenza had learnt her brother’s body language well by now; she could tell that the former Jedi was restraining his anger, shoulders and neck coiled, without a single slack muscle. “In his hasty youth, he’s seen fit to _liberate_ me of my personal transport.”  
  
Jenza raised her eyebrow in surprise. “Anakin? Anakin _stole_ your personal transport?” Now that was quite a feat, especially for a child.  
  
“Yes, and while I do not think he’s ever learnt how to slice a security system, he’s done a fine job of keeping his whereabouts unknown.” The Count frowned, tapping a button and freezing the footage.  
  
The security holo-vid of the hanger was clear - Anakin’s silhouette was clearly freeze-framed, walking towards Dooku’s ship, carrying an oversized pack, looking around him warily.  
  
With a _click_ , Dooku played the recording. Anakin suddenly started running towards the ship, fiddling with something in his hand; in response, the ship’s door hissed open. With a quick glance around him, the boy went into the ship, the door hissing closed behind him. After a short while, the starship’s engines powered up, and despite a slightly wonky takeoff, the ship exited the hangar and headed straight upwards, into the sky.  
  
Jenza sighed, shaking her head as she sat down. “Well, how did he do it then? How did he manage to escape?”  
  
Dooku raised a small remote in his hand. “The ship has a slave circuit for remote functionality. I have one, of course, but the old piloting droid also had one connected to its systems. It was absurdly simple for the boy to escape, really. He simply needed to remove the droid’s remote for the ship. I’d completely forgotten about the blasted thing, and assumed it had been turned over for scrap. It was never _quite_ as good as piloting as its manufacturers claimed.”  
  
“But good enough, it seems, to allow the boy to escape our notice.” Jenza stated. “I’m assuming your first port of call would have been to check the planetary scanners.”  
  
“Of course. And unfortunately, there are many places he could have disappeared to. The ship was already pre-programmed with countless hyperspace coordinates.” Dooku grit his teeth in frustration. “What a _foolish_ child. Of all the things he could have done…”  
  
Jenza just threw her head back and laughed, harshly and sharply.  
  
The Count turned to her, eyes narrowed in clear annoyance. “Care to share your opinion, dear sister? The boy has vanished into deep space. There are many uncharted systems out there if he miscalibrated the navicomputer, and frankly, those may be safer than the charted systems. These are certainly not the Core Worlds. I fail to find it - ”  
  
“ - amusing? Unfortunately, brother, I do, because for all your Jedi powers of mystic perception, you’ve failed to see what is _right_ in front of your nose!” The woman snorted. “He was a slave, far from his home. And the way you treated him was _hardly_ any better. Anakin is capable of hard work, true, but he needs a… a…”  
  
“A what?”  
  
Jenza just sighed. “Dooku, the boy needs a father. A guardian, as well as a mentor. Someone who he can look up to, who he can trust. Not some lofty, distant pillar of wisdom.”  
  
“He was by my side constantly this past week,” the former Jedi master argued in increasing annoyance, “at your request, I might add. I’ve made many concessions to my daily schedule and routine in order to accommodate the boy, despite my many duties as Count. The life of a Jedi is not the life of luxury and he will _not_ be coddled or spoiled, simply because we have the wealth to do so, and just because he’s had a harsh life...”  
  
“That is _not_ what I’m suggesting.” Jenza interrupted. “Are you truly too blind to see that he’s run away because of your personal, not physical, distance? That because you shunned him, even unintentionally, he had no choice but to feel unwanted?”  
  
Dooku went silent. The two of them did not speak for several long moments, before Jenza continued. “In any case, these are things we can discuss later. I believe I know exactly where he’s gone.”  
  
“No need. I’ve already sent a scout droid and ship to Tatooine, to attempt to pick up the trail. If that is where he has gone, and it would be most logical, then we can find him there.” Dooku glided out of his seat. He went to pick up his cane, and in one smooth motion, brought the hidden sword out of its shaft, raising it to the light. “There is turmoil in the Force.” He murmured. “I fear we must hurry.”  
  
“And we will. For while Tatooine is certainly a possibility, give Anakin some credit. It’s Hutt-controlled space - an extremely risky prospect for an unskilled, young pilot. And I assume Anakin did not steal anything?” At her brother’s nod, she smiled proudly. “Of course he wouldn’t. Good boy. Then there’s only one real place he would’ve gone. A place you would know about, if you _once_ decided to talk to him as more than just a mindless student eager to learn the Jedi arts.”  
  
-  
  
For a long time, Anakin had dreamed of becoming a pilot. Some simple, unerring basics that were a part of the reality of piloting hadn’t occurred in his fantasies.  
  
One of them was simple: space was cold. The first time he’d travelled from Tatooine with Qui-Gonn and Padme, he couldn’t help but constantly shiver, though he tried his best to suppress it around the others, not wanting them to worry about him. He’d started getting used to it by the end of the trip, and this time around Anakin had come prepared, bringing with him a thick, well-worn jumper that he’d found in the wardrobe of his room.  
  
Still, he couldn’t help but shiver again - this time from nervousness, rather than the cold. He opened his eyes, expecting to see or hear a flashing alert come up on the console, telling him that he’d made an error, that the ship was going to be pulled apart by a supernova or was going through an asteroid field - but he was greeted only by the now comforting view of a blue hyperspace tunnel, spinning endless around in the deep void.  
  
“Is something the matter, sir?”  
  
Anakin turned his head to the old piloting droid as it regarded him out of its old lenses. “No, nothing’s the matter.”  
  
“Then go to sleep, sir. The trip will take…” the droid’s eyes flashed as it calculated, “about another two hours.”  
  
It was a wonder that Anakin had discovered the piloting droid at all, buried under a veritable graveyard of old, scrapped droids. But digging through scrap heaps was something that the boy had cultivated quite a skill for. After all, if he could make it work again, then Watto could sell it. The antiquated models in Castle Serenno were light years ahead of the things that Anakin had seen in his time on Tatooine, and he took great delight in tinkering with them all.  
  
The piloting droid was the jewel of the entire collection. He’d discovered the slave remote in its head by complete accident trying to get it to work again; to his shock, it was still connected to Master Dooku’s personal ship. And while the droid’s body was beyond any state of repair, by hotwiring its remnants to the starship’s system, it was more than able to explain the basic essentials of piloting its former master’s ship.  
  
Anakin closed his eyes again. He tried meditating, like he’d read about, but it didn’t help settle him, and he struggled to sleep. So many thoughts were racing through his head, going round and round like podracers on an endless loop.  
  
 _Should he have gone to Tatooine first? Should he have checked in on his mum? Would Padme help him? Was he making the right decision?_  
  
The guilt of what he was doing weighed heavily on his mind; he knew he was betraying Master Dooku as well as Lady Jenza. But he couldn’t sit idly by while he knew his mum was in slavery. He just _couldn’t._  
  
How could he put his mother behind him, when it meant a part of him was now missing?  
  
The next two hours went by at a snail’s pace as Anakin curled himself up tightly, trying to sink deeper into his jumper. Finally, when it felt like eons had passed, a blue light started blinking on the console with a shrill beep.  
  
“That’s the signal, sir.” The piloting droid reported. “We can safely exit hyperspace.”  
  
Anakin reached out, gripping the level tightly. With a deep breath, he pulled it back.  
  
The blue tunnel of hyperspace contorted, twisting as the stars and the blackness of space returned. He leaned forward, eager to see the glittering jewel of Naboo, to see its forests and oceans even from the distance of space, but slowly, his eagerness dimmed as he frowned. “What, where are we? W-Where’s Naboo?”  
  
All he could see in front of him was inky blackness. Not a single recognisable sign, nor a single recognisable constellation of stars.  
  
The droid’s eyes flashed as it checked the ship’s systems. “We’re close to the Naboo system, but it appears we’re still in deep space.”  
  
“WHAT?” Anakin cried out, standing up in shock. “But you said that the coordinates were correct! I followed all your instructions _exactly_!”  
  
“I’m terribly sorry, sir. My systems are meant to be - ”  
  
The groaning of metal made the boy jump. He looked up and the groaning stopped, the cockpit falling into a deep, dead silence except for the hum of the various systems. Anakin inhaled slowly, holding his breath.  
  
Just as he exhaled, a red light started beeping urgently on the console. Anakin’s eyes went wide as he stared at it. Slowly, a deep, booming rumble reverberated through the ship, crescendoing to the point where Anakin could feel the rumble rattling through the bones of his torso. “W-What’s happening?”  
  
The droid, it appeared, had not been programmed for any humour, fear, or any form of expression. “We’ve been caught in a tractor beam, sir.” It reported the fact flatly, as if merely remarking on the weather.  
  
Anakin started swearing in Huttese, looking around the cockpit wildly for something to defend himself with or a place to hide in. “Pirates?”  
  
“Unknown. There are no markings on the ship of any sort.”  
  
 _I have a bad feeling about this…_


	5. Chapter 5

Even in space, Naboo was beautiful. The first colonists must have been in awe when they discovered the planet, and even moreso when they realised just how bountiful and ripe with resources it was, ready and eager to be plucked by the first people who found it. Everything - from the trees, to the oceans, to the mountains - seemed to have a certain lustre to it, making even the lush Serenno seem like a pallid imitation.  
  
In addition to this, the Nabooans were _most_ tasteful and cultivated; Dooku admired the grandness of the architecture as he guided his second starship into Theed Royal Palace, the seat of power on the planet.  
  
“Count Dooku - what an honour it is to have you grace our presence!” Sio Bibble, governor of Naboo, had come to greet him in the hanger personally. Despite the man’s obvious weariness, he conducted himself in the manner of a true gentleman, offering Dooku a gracious bow, which the Count returned. “The Queen was surprised but pleased to hear of your visit.”  
  
“Governor Bibble. I do apologise that I’ve not been able to make my way here sooner.” They walked together out of the hanger, matching stride for stride. “What the Trade Federation did to Naboo was unforgivable. I hope that Chancellor Palpatine, being from Naboo himself, appropriately punishes them for their actions.”  
  
“Thank you, Count. I’m certain that the Queen will wish to relay her congratulations in person, but unfortunately the Court has finished its session for today. I’m certain that we could provide you appropriate accommodation until...”  
  
“That won’t be necessary. I’m here on personal matters.” Dooku glanced to the sides of the hangar out of habit, but of course, did not see his stolen ship parked anywhere. “Please inform the Queen that I wish for a private audience.”  
  
The old governor frowned. “But Count, the etiquette of the Court dictates that as you’re a neighbouring ruler, and have not formally met Queen Amidala - ”  
  
“Unusual matters call for unusual etiquette.” The former Jedi answered smoothly, without breaking his stride. “Please inform Queen Amidala that I wish to speak to her on private, sensitive matters. I’m told that the matter is of great importance to us both.”  
  
 _This had better be worth the effort, apprentice..._  
  
 **-**  
  
In later years, Anakin would increasingly rely on his talent of thinking on his feet, but at his current tender age, he hadn’t quite grown to fully embrace and trust his instincts. They were there, of course, but in a pressing situation like this, he took precious time to deliberate, glancing around the cockpit wildly as he tried to figure out what to do.  
  
 _Where do I go? What do I do? Run? Hide? Fight?_  
  
The first thing was obvious - he quickly deactivated the piloting droid, gently pulling out the data chip inserted into its exposed cognitive module. With the droid connected to the ship’s systems like this, it was relatively easy to hide where Anakin had come from.  
  
That left his three options: running, hiding, or fighting.  
  
He couldn’t run, since he’d been caught in a tractor beam, and this starship was too small to have an escape pod. Fighting was _definitely_ out of the question, which only left one option: hiding.  
  
Getting into his bag, Anakin pulled out his tools and went into the small lounge, tapping on the nearest interior wall. He didn’t have a lot of time, but working in silence under pressure was a lot better than working under pressure with Watto yelling into his ear.  
  
This wasn’t a ship he knew a lot about. All he did know, however, was that most ships, however well-constructed or pretty they were, had hidden hatches for maintenance, normally just large enough to house a shipyard or hangar droid for repairs.  
  
The ship’s atmosphere was still icy cold, but with his heart racing Anakin could hardly feel it, knocking on the wall inch by inch.  
  
He frowned for a moment as he heard something, knocking at the spot again to double check. Then, with a grin, he ran his fingers across, quickly finding the small pinhole that would release the hatch. He pulled a thin wire from his pouch, stabbing it into the pinhole. With a quick _hiss,_ the maintenance hatch opened and Anakin grit his teeth, taking a deep breath before forcing himself inside.  
  
Anakin had started getting taller, but for now, he was just small enough to squeeze himself through. The hatch shut itself behind him, leaving the boy bathed in darkness, heart drumming between his ears.  
  
The ship gave another low groan as it was pulled in. He didn’t know how long he waited there, suspended in the darkness. It felt like hours passed, wedged there uncomfortably in that mere span of moments, or minutes, before the walls rumbled and then, abruptly, all fell silent.  
  
Closing his eyes, Anakin took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, partly out of fear that someone would hear him.  
  
Then, he heard it. The stomping of boots on metal.  
  
“Well, well, well. This is one _hell_ of a ship. Look at this interior! Very well decorated and fancy, like the sort of thing you’d see out in the Core Worlds.” The voice was loud, boisterous. “Sort of thing that a _lot_ of people would fancy.”  
  
“I-I’m not sure about this one sir. Why would a ship like this be floating out in the middle of space? And where is everybody?”  
  
“Doesn’t matter, because at the end of the day - you and I aren’t being paid to ask questions. We’ll tow it back to base, run a sweep for any life forms on board.”  
  
Anakin quietly swore to himself. He needed to get out of here _fast_.  
  
-  
  
It was a curious practice, electing a young woman as Queen - a strange mix of democracy and monarchy, and one that Dooku had rarely seen, even in his journeys as a Jedi Knight across the galaxy.  
  
Perhaps, however, there was some merit to the method. Queen Amidala’s eyes were not the eyes of a political puppet as Dooku had sometimes seen, vapid and dull, making empty gestures or sitting still and waiting on prompts from a carefully selected adviser. Instead, they were keen, fierce, and coolly intellectual, regarding him with both curiosity and wariness.  
  
“My Queen,” Governor Bibble announced, “Count Dooku of Serenno, former Master of the Jedi Order.”  
  
Dooku gave her a classic gentleman’s bow. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Queen Amidala.”  
  
“The pleasure, I’m sure, is all mine.” Queen Amidala said, her voice ringing out clearly through the throne room. “I’ve heard a great many things about you, Count Dooku, both as a Jedi and as a political idealist.”  
  
“Qui-Gon was my apprentice. Though it grieves me to hear of his passing, I am pleased that his efforts had not gone in vain to liberate your planet.”  
  
Amidala inclined her head - a small, subtle gesture, but one that spoke volumes. “Master Jinn was a wise Jedi. Without him, we would have failed in our attempt to take back our planet. Please, take a seat. We need not proceed purely on formalities.”  
  
The security captain at the Queen’s side frowned, and leaned in, quietly whispering, “my Queen, I’m not so sure that’s wise - ”  
  
She gave him a curt shake of her head. Dooku gave a nod, and took the nearest seat in front of the Queen. It was nearing evening now, and the warm hues of the sun bathed the throne room in an orange glow. “I thank you, Queen. It is _remarkably_ refreshing, I must say, to dispense with the usual formalities, especially for those of our stations. And you may rest assured, captain, that I am no assassin.”  
  
“You may now be a former Jedi, Count, but your apprentice, Qui-Gon, very rarely obeyed normal etiquette. Now, Governor Bibble says you wish to speak to me on a more private matter?”  
  
Dooku couldn’t help but give a quick snort at hearing about hearing, once again, of Qui-Gon’s disregard for polite behaviour, before he spoke. “It seems, Queen Amidala, that I have _misplaced_ my apprentice. A boy by the name of Anakin Skywalker.”  
  
“Anakin?” It was reflexive: the blurting of the boy’s name, the widening of her eyes and the change in expression from the stately bearing of a Queen to that of a girl. The moment was quick, and it passed, as Amidala moved on, smoothing over her mistake. “I’m surprised to hear his name. I had thought the Jedi Order had taken him in formally to be taught of their ways. And he has gone missing?”  
  
“As you well know, Queen, politics tend to get in the way of that,” Dooku said cynically, “I am no longer a Jedi, but that does not mean he cannot be instructed in the ways of a Jedi. The boy, however, is struggling with his new station, and I have strong reason to believe that when he ran away, he intended to come to Naboo.” Bringing out his personal holoprojector, he projected a small hologram of his personal ship. “He took this ship.”  
  
Amidala glanced at her security captain. “Panaka?”  
  
He shook his head. “No ships of that model or type have registered entry into our databanks, or been recorded by our perimeter patrols. It’s a pleasure cruiser - the sort of thing someone would notice and report.”  
  
“Still, such systems are not impervious to error, nor infallible.” Dooku pointed out.  
  
The captain’s eyes narrowed. “I can assure you Count, our security cordon is watertight. The last thing any of us want is piracy, or a second would-be invasion, happening while we’re still recovering. And besides, he’s just a boy - no ace pilot.”  
  
It was the Queen that replied, somewhat testily. “Need I remind you, captain, that this was the boy whose podrace we bet all of our lives on, and whose piloting skills were enough to single handedly disable the entire Trade Federation invasion force.”  
  
“My Queen, I didn’t mean to say…”  
  
Amidala had already turned back to face Dooku. “You will have the full support of our security forces. If your Jedi instincts say that he is here, then I believe you, as they were chief in helping to reclaim our planet. Naboo has many places to hide, but there are a few key locations that he may have gone to, and should he come to Theed, then you’ll be informed straightaway.”  
  
Dooku inclined his head. “I thank you. I empathise with your plight on Naboo and your struggle as Queen to help the planet recover - it was my father’s neglect that led to Serenno’s decline in the past years, something that I’m fighting to combat.”  
  
“I thank you for your kind words, Count. In times such as these, we all need to stand united.” She gave a small smile. “And to paraphrase what a good friend once said to me, we all need to help each other.”  
  
-  
  
It took a few minutes of silence and stillness, if not longer, before Anakin dared started crawling through the maintenance hatch. He needed to get out of the ship, and quickly - otherwise they’d scan him and root him out like a wamp rat in Beggar’s Canyon.  
  
The climb was painful, and uncomfortable. Anakin could feel the loose wires and pipes poking into him, and the occasional sharp object rake through his jumper. He clenched his teeth, pushing upward, until he reached the hatch which he was hoping would lead him to freedom.  
  
With a deep breath, he released it, and popped his head out.  
  
The lush, familiar scenery of Naboo greeted his eyes, and the rich and pungent smell of the trees wafted through his nostrils. He stilled himself, taking a moment, enjoying the familiarity, before he really started to look around him and observe the happenings.  
  
It looked like a makeshift, open air base. There were rows of the distinctively sleek, almost luminescent Naboo starfighters and one large transport, as well as one of the signature fighters that he had unintentionally piloted during the battle to retake Theed.  
  
Crates upon crates of supplies were being piled and heaped together by heavy-duty cargo droids. Slowly, Anakin realised that they were packing Trade Federation droids used in the conflict. _Why are those here?_  
  
Patrolling the perimeter were several helmeted guards, and as Anakin turned, his blood ran cold.  
  
There were cages. And in the cages, were prisoners - both Gungan prisoners and Nabooan prisoners. He knew what this place was.  
  
This was a smuggler’s camp, and the cargo was both stolen equipment and slaves. What was he going to do?


	6. Chapter 6

“Her highness has offered you a personal detail of soldiers from our security force, as well as unrestricted freedom across Naboo.” Slipping a small communicator out of his belt, Captain Panaka offered it to the Count. “An airspeeder transport is in the hangar now, waiting for you.”  
  
Dooku inclined his head. “Her highness is an impeccable hostess. Please relay my thanks to her.” He frowned slightly, noticing the man’s body language. “I see that you don’t approve of my free rein of the planet.”  
  
The head of security straightened up into a more disciplined posture. “Her highness has made her decision. It’s not my place to contest it.”  
  
Out of curiosity, Dooku reached out with his senses, gently prodding at the man’s buried discontent. Murmurs of arguments behind closed doors whispered back at him, hints of a difference in ideology. “It appears to me that the pair of you have had some number of disagreements, would that be correct?”  
  
Panaka’s lips tightened. “Is that some sort of Jedi trick?”  
  
“It’s hardly a trick when it’s written across your face, captain.” He gestured dismissively. “Speak your mind.”  
  
The man shrugged slightly, as if to warn him of his request. “With all due respect, Count… you shouldn’t be here. Our home was invaded and many of our people died, both military and civilian. If your apprentice did manage to slip through our perimeter, and I’m not saying he did, but if there’s a chance it happened - then it proves that a full military lockdown is necessary. That _escalation_ of armaments is necessary.” His voice tightened. “I understand that our people have traditionally been peaceful, but peace is no longer an option.”  
  
“Cynicism is unbecoming of the young, and Queen Amidala is, from what I’ve gathered, an idealist. Still, I understand her reasoning. A full military lockdown after an invasion, with no true cause, only drains morale.” The former Jedi pointed out. As to the man’s opinions on Naboo’s security, he had his own opinions, but he first needed to find his apprentice.  
  
“So does dying.” Panaka shook his head. “I wouldn’t expect a Jedi to understand.”  
  
“I understand you fully, captain. You’re a military man, who thinks only in military terms. Both of you want what’s best for Naboo.” Dooku shook his head. “Your people are peaceful, but in military terms, I suppose you’d call that being defenseless.”  
  
“I don’t want to see my people suffer and die, because we were once again too caught up in the throngs of blind idealism.” The head of security stated bluntly. “The airspeeder is waiting for you, Count.” The change of topic was sudden, but clear: _I don’t want to speak about this any more with you._  
  
Nodding at the quiet dismissal of their conversation, Count Dooku turned and left, cloak billowing behind him as he focused once again on finding his apprentice. The boy was here, he was all but certain, and he could feel the Force tugging him along, like an invisible string of fate, as he went down to the hanger.  
  
The guards were waiting for him outside the large airspeeder - like all of Naboo’s ships, it was a masterwork of function and form, sleek and cleanly finished in their signature chromium shell.  
  
“Reporting for duty, Count.” The guards straightened up. The men weren’t professional soldiers, and more there for his own protection than anything else. Dooku appreciated the sentiment, at least.  
  
“As you were.” He answered. “We’ll leave shortly.”  
  
He could only hope that Skywalker was not getting into any trouble.  
  
-  
  
Tatooine was an unforgiving planet for a child for many reasons. If it wasn’t the harsh elements that killed you, it’d be the Sand People, and if it wasn’t the Sand People, it would be a random mugging, or a criminal.  
  
As the capital of the Hutt Empire, Anakin had seen more than his fair share of unsavoury smugglers, bounty hunters, and wanted criminals. Those that smuggled slaves, though? They were the worst of them all.  
  
A deep anger suffused him as he stared at the cages. Both the humans and gungans looked sick, malnourished, exhausted. Their hands and feet were bound in cuffs.  
  
“Sir, we’ve scanned the pleasure cruiser that was abandoned in deep space.”  
  
Instinctively, Anakin ducked his head, peeking out only slightly when he recognised the voice of the smuggler who’d investigated Dooku’s ship. His lip curled distastefully; the captain, or leader of the smuggling outfit, was a Dug, like Sebulba. He was checking off the cargo of Trade Federation droids while the second smuggler, a human, had come to report.  
  
“And?” The Dug asked absentmindedly.  
  
“No life forms aboard, sir.”  
  
“Well, waste not want not. Scan it again, make sure there aren’t any homing beacons. Something like that cruiser would fetch a mighty fine price.”  
  
“Sure thing.”  
  
“Make it snappy, though. The client is already unhappy that we’re behind on our shipments. I want us to pack up and leave as soon as possible.”  
  
Anakin quietly swore under his breath. If he left now, they’d be packed up and long gone. And he couldn’t exactly leave and wander off by himself either; if he did, there was no telling how long he’d be wandering through the forest before he could find someone to take him to Theed. There would also be no way to find this camp again, as it wasn’t like he exactly knew where anything was on Naboo. This forest looked exactly like the other forests he’d seen in his time on the planet.  
  
He needed to find a way to call for help, and fast.  
  
Anakin’s mind wandered to his readings under Master Dooku’s tutelage; while he had mostly drifted off or spaced out, some things had stuck with him.  
  
 _The bond between a Jedi master and a Jedi apprentice is a sacred thread, tying their fates together. This is a rope through the Force, tied to each of them. Master and apprentice can tug on each end of the rope, signalling their intentions._  
  
Could he do it? Try and reach Master Dooku through the Force?  
  
 _“Master Dooku - I’m so sorry, I couldn’t - ”  
  
“Enough! That’s enough from you.”_  
  
Anakin closed his eyes, attempting to shut out the memory - the memory of disappointment, of failure. Then, resolute, decided that he needed to find another way. He couldn’t use the Force - at least, not yet. Was there something in the camp that he could use? Something that could communicate with the outside world, or distract them enough to stop them from taking off immediately?  
  
He furiously racked his brain as he cast an eye across the camp, settling on the boxes of B1 droids tidily clumped together. He was good with droids; was there a chance he could use the Trade Federation units, figure out how to turn them on? It was risky though - without a control ship, they’d be nothing more than a distraction and not a credible threat.  
  
And it wasn’t like Anakin needed to beat the smugglers. All he had to do was make a lot of noise, noise that would attract attention.  
  
Looking up, a plan formed in Anakin’s mind. He couldn’t help but smile slightly, his devious streak coming out. _This is gonna be fun._  
  
-  
  
Smuggling was a simple profession.  
  
All Goror had to do was listen to the boss, follow orders, and he’d get paid. The credits weren’t steady, but when they came in, they were big chunks of change; more than enough to cover him until the next job. And it wasn’t like they were big-time smugglers either. They traded in the more illegal side of things, that was sure, but nothing too hot or high risk.  
  
Initially, slipping slaves and droids from out of Naboo’s pocket had seemed way too dangerous. But the boss had insisted; not only would they get paid handsomely, the operation was, in his own words - airtight.  
  
“We got people on the inside helping us. Slick and quick, in and out, with Naboo Navy starfighters backing us up and helping our cover. Everybody gets a fat stack of credits, nobody gets hurt, and nobody misses the slaves - they just become casualties in the war.”  
  
While smuggling was always the best after a conflict, it could have also easily painted a target on their back. Goror wasn’t a saint - so long as it was better than mining and he was getting paid, he was happy - but he did want to have a smooth life after smuggling.  
  
So far, it was like the boss had promised: quiet, smooth, and relatively quick. Finding this pleasure cruiser though? It was odd, and that made him nervous. While it wasn’t the sleek, refined construction of a high class Naboo royal starship, it was definitely the sort of thing owned by nobility, or a politician of some kind.  
  
Still, it was the sort of thing that would add a _generous_ donation to his final payout, and for that reason alone, it wasn’t worth thinking about. Goror focused on the scanner, watching as it painted a holographic map of the ship.  
  
“Anything weird so far?”  
  
“Nothing,” Goror answered with a shrug. “Seems like it’s been abandoned.”  
  
“Or maybe someone was on it, and then jumped off as soon as they heard we were pulling out the scanner.” The other smuggler yawned. He was a temporary hand, not one of the regular crew, and more talkative than Goror usually liked. “I don’t wanna do it, but maybe we should put the droids into patrol mode, send them around the camp. I mean, it’s not like the slaves are going anywhere, right?”  
  
Goror shrugged again. Having security droids did seem excessive, but given their large haul of Trade Federation droids and slaves, it made sense. “Ask the boss.”  
  
“He’s busy. Eh, I’ll do it later. If there was someone in it, they might’ve panicked and ran off into the jungle. That’ll do our job for us.”  
  
Before Goror could reply, the low hum of an engine caught his ears.  
“What the hell is that noise?” Both of them turned to see one of the parked N-1 starfighters, hum to life, chromium and yellow finish glistening in the sun as it hovered in the air.  
  
“Who’s piloting that? I thought all the pilots were on patrol!” He got his answer quickly; the loud bark of its blaster cannons echoed through the camp, green bolts of energy lancing forward. An orange ball of fire erupted as the packed Trade Federation droids were destroyed.  
  
 _“Dank farrik!”_ Goror yelped, rolling for cover as debris rained overhead, blackened pieces of their precious cargo clattering through the camp. “What the hell is happening?!”  
  
“I don’t know, just shoot it!”  
  
The pair of them returned fire with a volley of blaster fire, the shots bouncing off the starfighter’s active shields as it launched into the sky.  
  
“Forget it!” Goror barked as he scrambled to send an emergency signal. “Let the muscle handle it, we need to start packing things up _fast_!”  
  
-  
  
“Now _this_ is - WOOOOO!” Anakin gunned the throttle, launching the ship into the air, the force of the acceleration throwing him back in his seat, so strong that he couldn’t even finish his sentence.  
  
He didn’t need Artoo for his second time in the pilot’s seat; learning to pilot in a life or death situation had given him more than enough familiarity with the controls, and he’d made more than sure to grill several of the pilots for information when they found out that he wasn’t an adult pilot. While he was far from an expert, he knew roughly what each button and dial did, and there was one that he needed right this moment.  
  
Anakin reached forward, turning on the comlink. “Can anyone hear me? My name’s Anakin Skywalker! I need help! There are smugglers trying to kidnap people!”  
  
Blaster fire splashed across the cockpit, interrupting him. Anakin craned his head to try and get a better look even as he twisted the stick, trying his best to avoid the fire. Warning signals blared at him.  
  
Two other N-1 starfighters were coming out of the sky in tandem, swooping right for him.  
  
 _Uh-oh._  
  
-  
  
At the moment Anakin’s broadcast went out, several things happened.  
  
Theed Royal Palace communications was one of the first places to receive the transmission. The officer on station sent out the alert, but without an accurate location or coordinates, it would take them time to triangulate the signal, meaning that rescue would be delayed.  
  
For the smugglers, they realised quickly that their cover had been blown and Naboo’s security forces would be on the way. They scrambled preparations to load up their remaining cargo and the slaves, hoping to at least get away with some, if not all, of their precious credits. They had rehearsed this possibility, and barring some unfortunate incidents, they’d be long gone before reinforcements could arrive.  
  
For the airspeeder flying across Naboo, the pilot at the controls noticed the incoming transmission straight away and played it, confident that he couldn’t be heard in his cockpit.  
  
 _“Can anyone hear me? My name’s Anakin Skywalker! I need help! There are smu - ”_  
  
He quickly turned it off, hand shaking with nervousness. Like several people in the Naboo security forces, he had a certain… arrangement. While it wasn’t as serious an arrangement as he’d heard some of them had taken, it was an arrangement to look the other way if odd things started to happen, and this was certainly an odd thing that didn’t need to be reported. _Maybe I can fake a fault with the airspeeder, force us to land for repairs..._  
  
His heart stopped as a presence made itself known beside him, putting his hand on his shoulder. It was a gentle touch, but he could feel the implicit threat.  
  
“You will play that transmission back.” Dooku stated calmly.  
  
“I won’t - ”  
  
“You misunderstand me. You _will_ play that transmission back.”  
  
The pilot closed his eyes, and opened them again. For some reason, he felt compelled to play it, as if the arrangement didn’t matter, switching it back on.  
  
 _“Can anyone hear me? My name’s Anakin Skywalker! I need help! There are smugglers trying to kidnap people!”_  
  
The transmission stopped.  
  
“Well now,” Dooku murmured, his voice laced with an oddly compelling strength, as if he had to be listened to, “why don’t we find the source of the transmission? And in the meantime, you can tell me just _why_ you decided to turn that off.”  
  
And the pilot talked, telling him everything.


	7. Chapter 7

The two starfighters were hot on his tail, perfectly synchronised as they accelerated, closing in to make an attack run.  
  
“All I wanted to do was rescue my mum.” Anakin bemoaned. He jerked the stick, turning the fighter into a quick series of manoeuvres, the force of the craft pulling him back into his seat. “Was that too much to ask? Is there something out there that hates me?”  
  
The first starfighter launched forward; the instruments in his cockpit started beeping furiously as it fired a blaster volley. His ship shuddered, the deflector shield distorting as it took the brunt of the hits. Anakin pulled the stick back, bringing the fighter up and out of the rain of fire, and twisted it into a spin, his stomach queasy. _At least spinning is still a good tri -_  
  
His ship shuddered again, another burst of blaster fire splashing across his shield. The former slave’s eyes widened, reflexes kicking in as he pushed the acceleration further, a crisp heat starting to slowly permeate the cockpit as the starfighter was stretched to its limit.  
  
“It must be the Force,” he laughed nervously, his heart racing, “the Force must hate me. That’s why I keep finding myself in situations like this.”  
  
His mind was working furiously as he checked his scanner, watching the way the two starfighters moved, his shield meter crawling back at a painfully slow pace. Though this was now his second time in the cockpit of a starfighter, he was no novice, having consumed as much about piloting as he possibly could, either through repaired holo-vids or the words of any passing pilot that wandered through the local cantina.  
  
It was a simple, two on one starfighter trick. The first starfighter would blast him, force him to evade and move out of the way. Then the second starfighter would cut him off or predict his trajectory, and use that to blast him with a second volley. They could keep doing this forever - the more he tried to escape and evade, the more they blasted him and the more his shields ticked down until they were broken through and he was left a sitting duck.  
  
Without an astromech droid’s help, Anakin didn’t have much time. He quickly turned on the comlink again. “If anyone managed to hear my first transmission, I need help! They’ve got slaves, and they’re about to leave! The coordinates are…” he glanced at the scanner, and quickly rattled off the coordinates. “If anybody is close by, please help!”  
  
He turned off the comlink. With a quick flip of the switch, he diverted all the remaining power to rear deflector shields, before he swallowed, moistening his dry throat as he considered his options.  
  
There was nowhere to run to. He had no idea how long it would be before help arrived. He needed to find a way to bide more time, and that meant his plan of attack was simple.  
  
With another quick flip of the switch, Anakin diverted more power to the engines, and accelerated the ship even further. He’d only heard about this manoeuvre once, from an old pilot at the end of yet another long day of work on Tatooine.  
  
 _“It’s a simple trick, kid. And if you want to be a good pilot, it’s essential stuff. There are a lot of nicknames or names for it, but it’s fundamentally the same thing - lets you turn your ship faster than you normally could, but it puts one hell of a beating on your ship, if it’s not used to taking it.”_  
  
Taking a deep breath, Anakin boosted the ship, his face vibrating at the sheer velocity of the acceleration. He could hear the distant whine of the enemy starfighters as they boosted to follow him, the sound exploding through the atmosphere.  
  
He held onto the controls tightly, watching the cockpit instruments light up as he went faster and faster, approaching the top speed of the starfighter. _I can do this… I can do this…_  
  
The monitor lit up green as he hit the starfighter’s top speed. Anakin took a deep breath and exhaled sharply, tightening his stomach as he abruptly cut the engines.  
  
The loud wail of the engines disappeared, followed only by the whistling of the wind as he twisted the ship, drifting it downwards and into a sharp arc. Then right as the ship was about to make a full about turn, he powered on the engines again, pumping as much power as he could into them.  
  
The starfighter rocketed forward, his whole body vibrating as he was jerked sharply back into his seat. His vision was getting dark, his stomach was churning, and he was ready to vomit, but he couldn’t stop now; he gripped the stick tightly, finger loosely on the trigger, targeting systems aiming at the two starfighters that he was now on a direct collision course with.  
  
He pulled the trigger, blaster fire lancing forward as the two enemy starfighters tried to break off and move around him, their deflector shields taking the brunt of the scattered hits.  
  
Anakin twisted the ship to pull around, but a sharp jerking shudder nearly ejected him out of the cockpit, instruments flashing red.  
  
His ship had just scraped and clashed with one of the enemy starfighters, and they were both in freefall as the engines failed.  
  
“No, no, no! Pull up! Up! UP!” Anakin growled, heaving at the frozen stick, his muscles aching at the impossible exertion as the ship nosedived downward, heading straight for the perimeter of the camp.  
  
The starfighter behind him was breaking apart as it spun rapidly. The debris came loose, flying through the air, and the second starfighter tried to turn around as a rain of debris flew straight towards it, but Anakin couldn’t see what happened as his instruments started cutting out, one by one.  
  
He could feel the nose tilt slightly upwards, engines groaning as they tried to forcibly stop the descent, slowing him down, but not enough, as he flew downwards and spun into a crash, before everything went black.  
  
A voice eventually woke him up. “So, _you’re_ the little brat that caused us all this trouble?”  
  
-  
  
The thick plume of black smoke was unmistakable as Dooku’s airspeeder approached.  
  
He opened the door, the cold wind howling through the ship, his cloak billowing behind him as he tightened his grip around his cane, feeling the weight of the weapon inside the shaft. For the umpteenth time, he yearned for the familiar feel of a lightsaber at his hip, and the emptiness he felt there was like a limb that was missing. The rapier would simply have to suffice.  
  
The guards behind him were gripping their weapons nervously. One of them finally dared speak up. “C-Count, sir. We’re just volunteers, not professional soldiers. Something like this is beyond our paycheck.”  
  
Dooku didn’t even turn around. “Let me ask you a hypothetical question, young man. If someone came and kidnapped your family, and you were watching, would you just stand there and watch it happen? Or would you intervene?”  
  
“Um… intervene, sir. I’d intervene.”  
  
The former Jedi nodded at the camp fast approaching. “Those pirates down there have Nabooan citizens that could be your family. They could be your wife, mother, brother, son, daughter. They may not be yours, but they are someone else’s. When the Queen took back her throne, it was not with professional soldiers, but with volunteers like yourself.” He ejected his sword out of his cane. “I am going to stop them from escaping. Are you going to stand aside and watch them make slaves of your people, like the Trade Federation tried to? Or are you going to help me?”  
  
The first guard stepped forward, visibly smaller than the rest. She nodded her head, cocking her weapon and powering up her blaster as an answer.  
  
Slowly, the rest of them straightened up, their blasters powering up in readiness.  
  
At his request, the airspeeder hovered down on the outskirts of the camp, using the larger trees as cover against blaster fire or any artillery that the pirates had. As it gently settled, Dooku stepped out, taking a deep breath.  
  
The Force felt different for every Jedi. At his advanced age, it had been his companion for much of his life, and so as he tapped into it, the Force rushed forward eagerly, suffusing every fibre of his being with a lightness and weightlessness. The aches and pains of years gone past were washed away, the currents of the Force hinting at its endless, infinite depth. It was ready to help him, to guide him, as it always had been.  
  
And there, beyond the expanse of the ocean, Dooku felt it. The shadows of the dark side, like a caged beast waiting patiently for its next feast. He had touched it several times in his life, and even its subtle reminder that it existed tempted Dooku.  
  
 _Power. Unlimited power, that which you can only dream of. You could walk into this camp, unarmed, and with a single wave of your hand, wipe this scum off the face of the planet. You could singlehandedly save this galaxy from itself, from the darkness that festers underneath it._  
  
Dooku had seen himself as a Sith Lord. Although the vision was not perfectly clear - more like a nightmare that, upon waking, you start to forget - he knew that he was powerful. More powerful than he was now, more powerful than he could ever hope to be, even in the prime of his youth.  
  
Dooku exhaled, and let the temptation pass through him. He had an apprentice to rescue.  
  
The former Jedi leapt forward, letting the Force carry his feet as he sailed through the air, landing with only a slight thud before he broke out into a sprint, faster than anyone could think possible. He had no lightsaber, but against mere backwater pirates, it did not matter.  
  
He caught the first pirate unawares. Before the man could turn around, Dooku had ripped the blaster out of his hands and struck him across the cheek with the butt of his weapon, knocking him out.  
  
The second pirate screamed, bringing his blaster to bear. “Contact! Get the droids!”  
  
Dooku threw the weapon as he fired, the rifle taking the shots as it disintegrated. He sprinted forward into a low crouch, rapier flashing in the sunlight as he lunged into a simple but classic Makashi thrust, puncturing the pirate’s blaster. He ripped the weapon out of the man’s hand, and with his free arm, delivered an elbow that knocked him down and out cold.  
  
He whirled around, taking in the next enemies with supernatural alertness: a line of security droids, their photoreceptors red, engaged in combat mode, their blasters humming as they prepared to fire, marching forward with cold efficiency.  
  
Dooku slammed his boot down, pulling the dust free from the ground as it flew into the air, obscuring his silhouette; he ducked down as the droids fired, blaster bolts whizzing over his head and around him, but none finding their mark.  
  
A return fire of volley engaged the droids. The security force had finally caught up, seating themselves behind nearby trees and boulders as they shot at the droids.  
  
The Count suppressed a smile as the dust cleared, scrutinising the droids as they turned to engage the more obvious threat. A simple plan to take care of them formed in his mind.  
  
They were poorly maintained, their joints and balls clearly rusting from neglect and laziness. Closing his eyes, Dooku drew deeply on the Force, letting it rush through him, pooling it through his being tightly. It swirled and shifted, and through his mastery he held onto it, reining and lashing it within himself like a ball of energy.  
  
After a moment, Dooku raised his hand, and with a quick, cutting gesture, pulled back. An invisible wave of energy lanced forward sharply, and just as sharply, it jerked backwards.  
  
In one synchronised wave, a rain of blaster rifles flew into the air, clattering across the ground. The droids all looked down at once, their primitive combat settings dimly registering that they were weaponless, before the security forces renewed their attack, blasting them down one by one.  
  
The dull hum of an engine caught the former Jedi’s attention. He looked up and turned to his temporary guards. “Come! Press the attack!” He thundered, sprinting forward and deeper into the camp, letting the Force guide his actions. _Help me find my apprentice._  
  
The pirates were scattering, some sprinting into the forest to hide, others attempting to start up unused speeders or starfighters to escape. All fell beneath his notice as the Nabooan guards barked their orders, demanding compliance.  
  
All too soon, the Count came to a clearing.  
  
His luxury cruiser was sitting across in a row of disabled fighters, right next to the cage of slaves, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.  
  
The pirates’ cruiser was hovering above the clearing, humming quietly. And directly in front of him, a Dug was looking at him cautiously, his blaster trained on Anakin.  
  
The boy looked exhausted, his face blackened with soot, clothes singed and crumpled. His hair was red and matted, as if he’d banged it harshly. Still, he looked up at his master pleadingly. “I - I’m sorry, master. I didn’t want this - ”  
  
“Master, eh?” The Dug interrupted, eyes narrow. “You don’t look like a slave owner to me. You got the air of a poncy one, but slave owners don’t singlehandedly charge into a camp of pirates just to rescue slaves.”  
  
Dooku simply raised an eyebrow. In a situation like this, the less the pirate knew, the better. “I assume you’re the one in charge of this... establishment.” He couldn’t help the contempt dripping from his voice.  
  
“You could say that. What’s your name, eh?”  
  
“My name isn’t important. What’s important is the deal that I’m about to make with you.” Dooku straightened up, letting his posture and bearing do the answer and take attention. He could hear the guards in the background, moving around the clearing, making sure that the Dug couldn’t escape.  
  
The Force shifted. He repressed a smirk.  
  
The Dug grinned, its teeth yellowed and cracked. “I like the sound of that. A good deal normally means credits coming my way.”  
  
“Oh, this deal is going to be _most_ attractive,” the Count chortled, “for that boy, you see, is particularly valuable to me, and your life on the other hand has zero value.”  
  
“That’s really the way you’re gonna start negotiating?” The pirate captain growled, tightening the grip on his blaster and thumbing it into the side of Anakin’s head. “By insulting me?”  
  
“I merely speak the truth, for my deal is simple: Let the boy go, you live. Continue with this charade, and you die.”  
  
The sight of a Dug threatening a boy his size with a large blaster was slightly comical, but the way the pirate puffed up at the threat made him appear more vaudeville actor than serious villain, the sort of comic relief character on stage that Dooku would quirk an eyebrow in amusement at as the entire theatre burst into laughter. “W-Why you - didn’t _anyone_ teach you not to threaten a pirate? Let alone one holding a boy hostage?” The blaster trigger depressed an inch, and Anakin whimpered as the power cell warmed up. “You seem like a rich man. Here’s what I want to let him go. One million credits, right here. An escort of security officers to guarantee my safety. And… and…”  
  
The wheels were visibly turning in the pirate’s head as he furiously thought of everything that could guarantee his safety. Then they stopped.  
  
A burning hole appeared in the middle of his forehead, as the sharp retort of a high powered rifle echoed through the clearing. The pirate’s body fell first. Then the pistol clattered to the ground afterwards, rolling quickly to a stop in the grass.  
  
The Naboo officers burst into action around him, spreading out through the rest of the camp, some pulling the body off to the side as Anakin collapsed in relief, shoulders heaving.  
  
Dooku turned around, looking at the helmeted officer camped on the top of the crates irritably. “Well, you certainly took your time.”  
  
The officer knelt up, propping the rifle on her knees. Then she took off her helmet, the face of a pretty young girl looking back at him with cool, steely eyes. “Don’t worry, Count. I wasn’t going to miss.”  
  
Anakin looked up, face slowly turning from shock to recognition. “Padme?”  
  
The Queen of Naboo looked down at him with a smile, shaking her head. “You are one troublesome boy, Anakin.” She looked up at Dooku. “It sounds like we need to have a proper conversation - off the books.”


	8. Chapter 8

The aftermath of the battle went, all things considering, quite smoothly. The initial security force rounded up the pirates that had surrendered and were searching the camp, picking through their ill-gotten goods, composed of many decommissioned Trade Federation droids. The former slaves were slowly ferried out by local airspeeders that weren’t already being used in the invasion restoration efforts, for routine medical diagnostics. Thankfully, it looked like most of them were suffering only from thirst or hunger from poor supplies.  
  
“I’m sorry, master.” Anakin drooped his head. A quick squirt of bacta was all that was needed to treat his bruise, and given what had happened in the events that led up to his capture, it was a miracle that that was the only injury. “I shouldn’t have run away. I should have told you.”  
  
Dooku considered his words. They were still in the clearing, having a private moment; the Queen had given them as much time as they needed together while she focused on directing the cleanup efforts.  
  
The urge to scold the boy rose up. That old, embittered Jedi Master reared its ugly head. While Dooku had been quick to praise his apprentices, he was just as quick to cast judgement and criticism. It had worked for Qui-Gon and Rael, who had both grown into fine Jedi Knights, but for Komari? It led to eager, often rash actions, in increasingly mad efforts to please her Master and win him over.  
  
What Anakin had done was foolish, reckless, unwise. And yet there was no denying that the Force had a hand in the events that occurred, almost to the point where it seemed like events bent themselves around his wayward apprentice’s actions. Even now, he could sense the Force swirling around the boy, as bright and as brilliant as a supernova. The boy’s destiny was unclouded and uncertain, but it was clear now that he was key to galactic events. A light hand was needed.  
  
“What you did was rash.” Dooku began, his voice as even-tempered as ever. Anakin’s shoulders sank, ready to accept his scolding. “There is no doubt of that. You could have died, at multiple points in your journey, and if you had been captured, you would have been sold into slavery.”  
  
At this, Anakin’s face paled. The thought of being in slavery again, to a less kind slave owner, made his stomach queasy. He’d seen what harsher owners did on Tatooine to their slaves, and the thought… well, it was not something he wanted to ever think about again, except to rescue all of them.  
  
Dooku continued. “Had that happened, make no doubt I would have scoured the entire galaxy to find you, but there is always a chance you’d disappear completely. You would have been taken far away to some obscure part of the Outer Rim, far away from both your mother and myself, and you would have failed to achieve your goal and become another lost soul.” He shook his head. “Is that what you want your future to be?”  
  
“No.” The boy whispered.  
  
“And yet, I can somewhat sympathise with your actions.”  
  
Anakin looked up in surprise.  
  
“You were acting on your emotions, true, but I should have consoled you on your feelings. You should have felt comfortable to come to me, as your teacher, but from your perspective, I appeared distant, did I not? You are also still untrained - had you been more skilled in the Force, perhaps you would’ve changed your decision.”  
  
“So… you’re not going to punish me? I’m still gonna be your apprentice?”  
  
“If you are going to be a man of action, you need to learn the way to make the right decisions. And that, I strongly believe, is something that I can teach you. There is a reason that the Force brought us together, and in time, we will find that out.”  
  
Anakin’s eyes lit up. “So you’ll really teach me the ways of the Force? For real, this time?”  
  
The Count repressed a sigh. “The things you’re learning are useful - but yes, when we return, you will formally begin your training in the Force.” Dooku glanced at his pleasure cruiser, which was looking worse for wear; the panels had been pulled out poorly, the pirates obviously looking to strip some of it for parts. “For now, however? I need a good mechanic to fix up my cruiser. I don’t suppose you know one?”  
  
“Yippee! Thank you so much! I promise I’ll be the best Jedi apprentice ever! I’ll pay attention, don’t you worry!”  
  
Dooku cleared his throat in amusement; apprentices always liked to make dramatic claims about the more mundane parts of their duty, but it hardly ever worked.  
  
It was a slap on the wrist, but Master Yoda had slapped him on the wrist many times for serious transgressions. Had he not also strayed, more metaphorically, touching the dark side in his days at the Jedi Temple? Anakin would need a closer eye and closer guidance - the last thing he wanted to do was alienate him further.  
  
And - well, something good had come out of this. This was the Force’s doing. Time would tell what impact this would have.  
  
As the boy scampered along to repair his ship, Dooku turned and walked back to the airspeeder. In the guise of a security officer and without her heavy makeup, Queen Amidala should have looked like a child - a young girl, dressed poorly, playing pretend soldier at an impossible war. That was what the dissenting politicians had made her out to be when she won back control of Naboo. _Stroke of luck,_ they had called it - a random roll of the dice.  
  
Instead, however? In full command and issuing orders to her officers, Amidala looked more like a primal warrior Queen, eyes laser focused as she moved quickly between her officers, discussing methods of disassembling the droids even further.  
  
For Dooku, it was simple. Children did not put a blaster bolt between the eyes of another sentient being with zero hesitation.  
  
She turned to look at him as he approached. “Count Dooku. I apologise that I did not inform you I was onboard.”  
  
“Apologies are unnecessary.” Dooku said with a small wave of his hand. “In fact, I greatly admire your independence. Few rulers I’ve met lead headfirst. A shame that Naboo only elects Queens for a certain period of time.”  
  
“A safeguard against tyranny.” The Queen gestured towards the airspeeder. “Come, let’s sit inside. We won’t be bothered.”  
  
As the two of them got in, Amidala closed the hatch, leaving them bathed in the soft interior lights.  
  
“You know Anakin.” Dooku observed as they sat down. “On a personal level, I mean.”  
  
Her lip quirked. “You could say that. I have a question - Qui-Gon was your apprentice, wasn’t he?”  
  
“He was.”  
  
She sighed, leaning back. “He was a good man. I see that now, but in the moment, I thought him strange and reckless. To think that he bet our lives on Anakin winning his podrace…”  
  
“The ways of the Force seem strange to those unaccustomed. But, as you’ve seen now, the boy has a great destiny ahead of him. This makes twice he has saved your people, I believe.”  
  
“And Naboo must repay the immense debt twofold,” the Queen replied. “He’s a hero. All my people have heard of him - the boy who singlehandedly defeated the Trade Federation army, and now this? I had considered sending someone, as a personal favour, to rescue his mother out of slavery, but once I’ve sorted out this mess, it’s something I’ll prioritise. I suppose you’ll want her to be with him.”  
  
Dooku raised his hand. “On the contrary, the boy is training to be a Jedi - or at the very least, training, in the Jedi arts. His mother being intimately close would serve as more of a distraction than a benefit.”  
  
“Then she’ll be a guest here, until at the very least she can get herself back on her own two feet. There’ll be no shortage of work on Naboo until we can recover from the Trade Federation invasion.” Her expression darkened. “To think that these pirates would try to benefit from my people’s misery!”  
  
“Those were your own starfighters,” Dooku observed, “and Anakin tells me he quite impressively held off two trained pilots of your own forces. I sense that the corruption is deeply rooted.”  
  
“Then I’ll hunt them down, root them out at the source.” She said acidly. “How dare those traitors betray their own people.”  
  
“There will be many more of them. Administrators who get paid off to look the other way, officers who ‘accidentally’ miscount the number of lost citizens. There were many slaves, too many to simply snap your fingers and vanish without anybody noticing, let alone the amount of war loot they stole.”  
  
“I may be young, Count, but I’m not a fool. This is the sort of thing that will take time and resources - two things I’m in very sore need of.”  
  
Dooku sighed. “I had a feeling that this was why you wanted an off-the-books conversation. You wish for Serenno to aid you?”  
  
The Queen did not answer the question directly. “I only have a few options as a ruler. I’m certain that you would’ve considered these in my position. The first one is simple - to petition the Galactic Senate to grant further relief and supplies, in order to speed up recovery efforts and free my own security force to make direct efforts to hunt down these traitors. Or, I could lobby for the Senate to assemble a force to do this for me.”  
  
“Chancellor Palpatine is Nabooan, if I’m not mistaken. Could he not expedite this request?”  
  
“Chancellor Palpatine, I’ve found, will do what benefits him first. He is a friend, but he is also a politician.” Amidala said dryly. “While I still have faith in democracy, it seems that the Senate has become too bogged down in arguments and endless debates to take real action on any issues.”  
  
“A sentiment I share. What of petitioning the Jedi Order directly, then? In times past, Jedi Watchmen served as the guardians of a single planet or a sector. And though I’m unpopular in certain circles of the Order, I have favours, you might say, that I could draw on. Perhaps Knight Kenobi would take an interest in helping you?”  
  
“Let me ask you a question in response to that: why was Anakin rejected from the Jedi Order?”  
  
Dooku raised an eyebrow. Quietly, he was becoming more and more impressed with this young woman. Quickness of mind and idealism were a fearsome combination. “You heard.”  
  
“I made quiet inquiries, shall we say, on your arrival.” A wry smile graced her lips. “I know not the ways of the Jedi, but there are certain senators who keep a close eye on their affairs. I understand that your sentiment for inefficient bureaucracy applies to the Order as well, especially since you’ve taken Anakin on as an apprentice.”  
  
“Qui-Gon would have left the Order to train him, had he survived - I have no doubt of that. They do not like Anakin - too emotional and too old to begin the training. You can see the consequences of the former: something that we will work on. In the latter, I can only say that I’ve seen many older apprentices who have a mere quarter of the brain that the boy possesses, and only a fraction of the talent.”  
  
“Then you understand that I have few true options.” She replied, leaning back in her seat. “Naboo is technically classified as a Mid Rim planet, but Serenno and Naboo share similar qualities. Your aid, your resources, your wisdom as a former member of the Jedi would be invaluable to the planet’s relief efforts, as well as to its long-term future. When I’m gone, I don’t want to leave Naboo’s fate up to chance. I’ve heard your speeches on the Holo-Net, you share my beliefs. Why _not_ build closer ties?”  
  
“Serenno is also a planet in recovery.” The former Jedi countered. “My father and my brother did immense damage to its economy and its reputation, and many workers have been laid off. Many of the Great Houses support me, but a lot of them do not like me. To them, sending workers off-planet would be… unwise.”  
  
“Then let our advisors collaborate. Figure out a way to help each other. Our people have plenty to learn together, to grow together. People listen when you speak, Count. Naboo would be in your debt!” She argued. “In dark times such as these, we must work together.”  
  
Dooku sighed, the cynist in him warring with the idealist.  
  
This was the way he was meant to be, was it not? Here was a ruler asking for his help, his resources. Had he been a younger man, no doubt they would have become close friends and companions, joined in some damned foolish idealistic notion of purging corruption and saving the galaxy.  
  
The doubt, however, still lingered. There were many factors to consider. What would his people think, when they were still in recovery? What would the nobility think? What would happen to their galactic standing? Would this paint a target on Serenno, making it an attractive prospect for pirates?  
  
Perhaps sensing his doubt, the Queen took a deep breath. “I understand your hesitations, Count, and in truth, I have doubts too. But your apprentice was a man of action, and Qui-Gon has taught me that it’s better to take action than wait for others to make decisions on your behalf. These pirates are a wake up call that I need to serve my people as best I can _now._ And as a show of good faith, I’m willing to discuss a deal.” She slipped a holo-emitter out of her pouch, placing it on the table between them, before turning it on.  
  
A holographic readout of Naboo hummed to life, illuminating the cabin with a bright blue glow. With a quick press of the button, the planet turned transparent, the bright blue glow of the core shining through.  
  
“My planet has a plasma core - a resource that, for generations, has been virtually endless and has powered both our civilisation and Gungan civilisation. In truth, even our scientists are still figuring out what it can do. I’m hoping that in collaboration with the leader of the Gungan people, we can further unlock its properties.”  
  
“I’m aware of your planet’s unique core. It was what started the Trade Federation dispute, was it not?”  
  
“It was, for obvious reasons. And now, given their actions, my people are wanting to take over all aspects of trading the plasma itself.” Her eyes narrowed. “This is a precious, unique source of plasma. And it’s a source that I’d be potentially willing to share with Naboo’s allies.”  
  
Dooku suddenly stood up.  
  
“Count Dooku?” The Queen was confused.  
  
“I don’t suppose you keep a bottle of good wine onboard your airspeeders?” Dooku inquired.  
  
“There should be some in the cockpit, I believe. It’s normal for there to be a bottle around. Naboo has a strong wine culture.”  
  
“Something that Serenno shares.” Dooku went into the cockpit and retrieved it, glancing at the label. “This will do.” He sat back down, and poured two glasses. “It's a traditional Serennian custom - wine must be served for friends, or business partners.”  
  
He took one glass, and raised it towards Padme’s hand. “Now - would you care for some wine, my friend?”


	9. Chapter 9

This is what it’s like to be Padme Amidala, right now.  
  
Your term as the elected Queen of the planet you so dearly love is already one that will go down in history - for better, you hope, rather than for worse. History is written with the clarity of hindsight, and all you’ve done has been for the good of your people. Many died because of your actions; the blood on your hands of the fallen, both humans and Gungan, haunts you every night. You see them fall, one by one, in your dreams, and you can do nothing about it.  
  
Every day since the Trade Federation crisis has been exhausting, both physically and mentally. An endless number of pleas filter in from all over the planet - people begging for the basics: food, water, shelter. You’ve opened trade with Naboo’s neighbours in the Chommell Sector, your galactic home in the Mid Rim, but it doesn’t ever seem to be enough.  
  
Your advisors assure you that you’re doing everything you can. But everything you can is still failing someone in need. It’s impossible to help everyone, you know that, but it still gnaws at your soul.  
  
The past few days have been similarly exhausting. But rage suffuses every fibre of your being - a cold, bitter, focused rage, one that brings you focus and clarity, washing away the exhaustion. Your own people had been enslaved. Gungans, who had fought and bled in droves to help save the planet, had been enslaved. And it was not just pirates who had enslaved them, but your own people.  
  
You’ve always preferred to take charge yourself, and so you had asked Governor Bibble to take the reins of the Council for a few days while you personally sort out this horrendous mess. There’s a simplicity in logistics, and it becomes an inadvertent holiday for yourself - away from the prying eyes and rumours and whispers. Every action you make, every announcement you send, is scrutinised. It wears on you slowly, chipping away at your idealism.  
  
After all, you know you are doing what you think is best for the people you so dearly love. However, other people have other notions about what’s best for Naboo. You don’t agree with them.  
  
Count Dooku has become a trusted confidant, especially as you ratify the terms of your unofficial deal. An alliance is too much right now - a formal and dramatic change when what your planet needs at the moment is stability and quiet in order to recover. Still, this would pave the way for a friend, and friends were what Naboo needed. Serenno and Naboo had a lot in common, in many ways. Perhaps they could help each other.  
  
And the Count was wise. You could see how he had trained Qui-Gon Jinn, the Jedi who gave his life to help save your people. Every evening you dined with him and his apprentice, the hero who saved your people, Anakin Skywalker, until they left.  
  
He’s just a boy now, more enthusiasm and innocence than common sense. He’s always been a funny child, but the hairs on the back of your neck tingle when you hear him talk about his dreams. He’s always seemed so sure, so certain of his future. How he would free the slaves, visit every planet in the known galaxy, become the greatest Jedi of them all.  
  
You are finally starting to consider that it may be more than naive bluster.  
  
Right now, however? You’ve returned to Theed Palace, the traditional seat of power in Naboo.  
  
Things are in chaos.  
  
Your royal advisors are arguing and bickering, almost on the verge of shouting insults at each other. Your heavy makeup, crown and dress are a shield, helping to protect you from the worst of the storm. In the position of Queen, you had the final say, and the ultimate power, but that didn’t stop them from voicing their concerns.  
  
The first point of concern had been around Serenno.  
  
Several of the more conservative advisors had jumped to accuse you They called you things you had never been called before in court. _Reckless. Immature. Blinded by idealism. Ignorant of economics. Poor negotiator._  
  
A trade deal with Serenno was sensible, of course. But offering up their most precious resource, after they had gone to war over it? It didn’t matter that the Count was a former Jedi. He was a politician, at the end of the day. He would only do what was best for Serenno - not for Naboo.  
  
The second point of concern was what they were arguing about, now.  
  
Even with their help in winning the war, the divide between the Naboo settlers and its native inhabitants, the Gungan, was deep. A formal alliance after years of deep-seated dissent was unprecedented, and was already seen by many Nabooans as enough.  
  
You had considered some drastic measures, initially, but had shelved them for more important concerns. It was Count Dooku who reminded you that the two peoples relied on each other.  
  
His words rang in your head. _“A planet divided between two peoples has no future.”_  
  
You had debated it with him endlessly. And you hated it, because you knew he was right.  
  
And so you had suggested it. It seemed simple, in concept. A representative of the Gungans would sit on the Royal Advisory Council in Theed Palace as an official minister representing the Gungans. It would be the first step in ratifying their new accord, and pave the way for a joint Council between the Queen and the Boss of Otoh Gunga, in effect the King of the Gungan people.  
  
But you had not expected this explosion of arguments. In many ways, it signalled who was onboard for your vision of what Naboo could be, as well as who was not.  
  
But you could weather the storm, for you were Queen. You would be patient, and you would wait. If true change was to be had on Naboo, you would bear the burden, even if you were eventually cast down as an unpopular Queen.  
  
Quietly, you signal to Sabé, your loyal handmaiden, that you had an issue to discuss with her later.  
  
It was time to start making good on your people’s debt to Anakin Skywalker.  
  
-  
  
On his return to Serenno, Dooku had called for a council of the Great Houses immediately.  
  
Dooku did not like the Great Houses of Serenno. Perhaps in the past, they had been active allies of the Count. But these were also the same passive, shallow nobility who had sat idly by, lining their pockets and gossiping about the latest Inner Rim fashions while his father and brother brought Serenno to ruin, ruining the livelihood of many workers and destroying the economy in the process.  
  
Still, as Count, he had a duty to formally inform them of any happenings, and furthermore, they were seven of the most powerful noble families in the galaxy. Angering them was rare, but it would not be wise.  
  
And so he stood in the communication centre, waiting patiently, as calm and as serene as a stone guardian on the bank of a river.  
  
One by one, the faces of the seven Barons, representing the seven Great Houses of Serenno, winked into existence.  
  
“I thank you for being here on such short notice,” Dooku greeted them, “As Count, House Serenno recognises you all: Houses Borgin, Malvern, Hakka, Demiji, Nalju, Vemec, Palerma.”  
  
 _“You wished to speak with us, Count. Please dispense with the pleasantries, my time is short.”_ Baron Felmar huffed, his hook nose taking up prominent space in the room.  
  
 _“Save it, child. If the Count wishes to call a council, he obviously has something important to say.”_ Baron Jek interrupted with a shake of the head.  
  
“Indeed I do. For Baron Felmar’s benefit, I will keep it simple. No doubt I’m keeping him from important business.” Dooku pressed a button on the console, transmitting data to each of them.  
  
The seven Barons took a moment to look at the information, before they looked at him in a variable mix of curiosity, jealousy, and awe.  
  
“As you can see, I have brokered a deal with Naboo. Queen Amidala was most generous - in exchange for a _very_ affordable and wholesale price for their plasma, we are to offer them our resources and aid in humanitarian relief after the Trade Federation crisis. It is the Queen’s hope that this will begin a strong and equitable relationship between our planets.”  
  
 _“How marvelous, Count. Your miraculous Jedi wisdom surely is a benefit to us all.”_ Baron Sirl tittered, his smile growing wider. _“Nabooan plasma is famous. There are many things that our people could do with it.”  
  
“As wholesale traders of the plasma, we could take it - sell it twenty or thirty fold the cost.” _Baron Parl suggested. _“We’d be rich beyond measure!”_  
  
Dooku shook his head. “We will do no such thing. Do you not see that the plasma is a gift of enormous generosity? To sell the plasma in such a way would undermine our relationship, and it would undercut the Nabooan efforts to sell the plasma themselves. No, the plasma is too precious to be used for greed. I have many plans, and it is my hope that the Great Houses of Serenno will support me.”  
  
Baron Jek, the oldest of the seven Barons, looked at him intently. _“Tell us.”_  
  
When the seven Barons signed off to consider his words, Jenza appeared from outside of the field of view.  
  
“You know that this is risky,” she pointed out, “an alliance with Naboo is profitable, but I have no doubt that there are many on Naboo who are grumbling about the deal now, as it makes them look extremely vulnerable. And there’s nothing to say that they won’t renege on it once Queen Amidala has finished her term. We would be painting a potential target on our backsides, brother, for potentially very little long-term gain.”  
  
“I understand your concerns, sister. But this opportunity is the work of the Force, and it is my every intention that I capitalise on it. I ask you to trust that I’m doing the right thing.”  
  
“I do, brother, but still…”  
  
“Sending Naboo labour costs us very little. Our brother and father were… _overenthusiastic_ in their construction of worker droids, and since non-droid labour has started again, there are many of them sitting around in empty factories doing nothing. The Great Houses are no in short supply of credits, and it should be relatively easy to convince them to make generous donations to Naboo to prop up its economy and bring good publicity to our planet.” Dooku paused, his mind racing.  
  
There were countless things that could be done with the plasma. Dooku’s surveyors felt strongly that there were veins underneath the surface of the planet that could be mined for precious gems and minerals, and mining equipment using the plasma could conceivably do an enormous amount of mining work for very little cost.  
  
That was just one simple, rudimentary use for the plasma, and Dooku had many more in mind. In combination with his own enormous, personal fortune, Serenno’s economy would get the jumpstart that it was looking for. While time would only tell what benefits that the planet would reap, it could perhaps truly be the icon that Dooku hoped it would be.  
  
 _The crowning jewel of the Outer Rim. A beacon of freedom and hope amidst the darkness_.  
  
He was getting old, true. But his dreams had not died completely - not yet, anyway.  
  
Dooku pushed the thoughts aside. It was early morning on Serenno. And though they had only returned for a short time, he was ready to begin training his apprentice.  
  
The question was whether the boy was ready. Dooku had a lifetime of training, but also a lifetime of training apprentices. In his time as a Jedi Master, he had discussed and experimented with many different methods of teaching.  
  
Anakin would soon get his first taste.  
  
-  
  
The duelling chamber was more elaborate than Anakin could dream of.  
  
This was the one area that Dooku had strictly forbidden his apprentice from entering by himself. It was an enormous, circular room, floor decorated proudly with the House Serenno crest. An elaborate mosaic of each of the past Counts, dressed in coats of armour, decorated the ceiling, all circling to the middle - the first Count of Serenno. Several training droids sat in their charging chambers, next to a rack of bladed weapons on the side.  
  
“I thought we were going to learn about the Force first, uh, master?” Anakin looked around hesitantly. “I mean, meditating again?”  
  
Dooku shook his head. “No. We will start with the more physical side of training, first. You will soon see why.”  
  
“Does that mean I get a laser sword?” Anakin asked excitedly, fantasies dancing in his head. “I want a green one like Qui-Gon - it’s gonna look wizard!”  
  
“Firstly, they are called lightsabers. ‘Laser sword’ is a common mistake. And secondly - no, not yet anyhow.” Dooku dismissed. “A lightsaber is a symbol of the Jedi, but more than anything else, it is a symbol of hope - of a better future. Many will be inspired by it. Some will fear it. Others will flee it. It is not to be carried lightly.”  
  
He gestured for his apprentice to stand in the middle of the ring. Closing his eyes, Dooku circled him, like a master trainer inspecting a prized racing mare, looking deep into his apprentice’s biology - in particular, his muscles, ligaments, and bones. Then he opened them, looking at the more immediately visible tells - the way Anakin stood, the length of his limbs, even the way he breathed and how quickly his heart beat at rest.  
  
Lightsaber combat was as much temperament as it was anything else, but it never hurt to figure out how his apprentice would grow. It appeared that the boy would grow tall and strong, with long reaching limbs. In combination with his headstrong nature, the boy would eventually be a perfect fit for Form IV or V.  
  
Mentally, he made a note to ask his chef droids to send for any additional nutritional supplements, in order for Anakin to grow up as healthy as possible. While muscles and bone density were hardly necessary to wield the Force, physical strength was useful to have and fall back on when one’s Force reserves were deplenished.  
  
Also, he had not particularly enjoyed the feeling of getting old, and of waking up every morning with increasing aches and pains. He did prefer to spare his apprentice the same feeling for as long as possible.  
  
“Before we begin,” Dooku said, “tell me this - what does it mean to be a Jedi?”  
  
Anakin didn’t hesitate to answer. “A Jedi’s someone who can use the Force, and protects others. They’re good and do their best to do good things, and they strike down evil when they see it.”  
  
“Jedi are also negotiators, peacekeepers. A lightsaber that is not drawn is sometimes more powerful than an ignited blade. That is why it is important that you are educated, my young apprentice. Fighting should be your last resort.” Dooku stated.  
  
“But if Padme hadn’t fought to get her people back, then they would’ve died, right?”  
  
“It is as I said.” Dooku went to the weapons rack, taking out a slim fencing sword and giving it to his apprentice. “Combat is a last resort, apprentice, but it is an important part of service. And at times, especially in the Outer Rim, strength is the only thing some people recognise.”  
  
Anakin hefted the weapon experimentally. “It’s heavy. Wouldn’t a lightsaber have no weight?”  
  
“Correct.” Dooku acknowledged. “Fencing will still improve your saber skill, and more importantly, your physical endurance. It will push you to rely on the Force instinctively, and as your ally.” He took his own fencing sword. “Traditionally, younglings will start with Shii-Cho, or Form I. I have different views. Form II, or Makashi, teaches the importance of footwork and stability - essential for any swordsmanship, lightsaber or fencing. Blaster bolt deflection, once you have learnt proper footwork, becomes trite.” The former Jedi sniffed. “Waving about a blade in an attempt to block blaster bolts looks embarrassing, but less embarrassing than slipping up and smacking your face.”  
  
Master and apprentice stood face to face, on each end of the duelling ring.  
  
“Be warned,” Dooku said, his voice like booming thunder in the chamber. He was a master of many things, but here he was truly in his element. “I am a hard taskmaster. I expect perfection in all things, but as my student, I expect you to be the finest duellist of them all. Are you ready?”  
  
Anakin grinned, excitement sparkling in his eyes. “I’m ready to learn, master.”  
  
Dooku gestured. “Then let us learn to bow, before we begin.”  
  
The master taught his apprentice the classic Makashi salute. Then he lunged forward, just quickly enough for Anakin to leap to the side.  
  
“Wait! You haven’t even - ” Anakin narrowly raised his sword, parrying another thrust with a clumsy and wasteful effort, “ - taught me anything yet!”  
  
“Learn fast, then.” And Dooku attacked again.  
  
Anakin moved back, and their first duel began in earnest. The boy was already panting from exertion, waving the sword around more like a giant stick, his arms heaving as he fended off Dooku’s strikes. The former Jedi was careful to just be quick enough to keep the boy on his toes, but slow enough so that he would have time to react.  
  
“You cannot dodge or block forever.” Dooku chided. “Trust your instincts.”  
  
Anakin’s eyes widened, and he narrowly ducked down to avoid the blade whizzing over him, glinting brightly in the light, stepping back as Dooku pressed the attack.  
  
 _Thrust, thrust, swipe. Thrust, thrust, swipe._ Anakin was starting to feel the rhythm of his master’s attacks; he was still on the backfoot, but the sword in his hand felt less heavy as he swiped it from left to right, blocking as quickly as he could. His eyes watched the Count’s blade, twitching with every slight feint or movement, but he wasn’t relying on his eyes now, as the world around him seemed to reveal itself more and more.  
  
His quick, hurried breaths slowed. His heartbeat, thundering in his ears, seemed to deepen and stretch, on and on, a droning sound in an infinity of time.  
  
 _Thrust, thrust, swipe. Thrust, thrust, swipe. Thrust, thrust -_  
  
Anakin lunged forward, breaking his master’s rhythm with an effortless parry and a lunge, just as Dooku was doing.  
  
His master stepped back, evading it, a smile gracing his lips. “Good. Very good.”  
  
All of a sudden, time seemed to return to its normal length. Anakin stopped, sweat dripping down the side of his head, lungs heaving. “Wh - what was that?”  
  
“A meditation of sorts. Moving meditation can be just as beneficial, and for the busy minded, it is the only way that they can clear their mind and still their thoughts.” Dooku lowered his weapon. “You have just touched the Force, young one. It calls to you, eager to be used.”  
  
The Count was pleased. Swordsmen of eons past had described a state of flow, of super-consciousness, where action and reaction seemed to be the very same.  
  
Anakin was a boy who had trouble sitting still. In this case, he would simply have to be a bit more unorthodox in his teaching methods.  
  
“Have a sip of water.” Dooku raised his sword. “Then I will teach you your first kata.”


End file.
